


Le Règne

by MissWhitneyBex



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Duty, F/M, Love, Love Triangles, Politics, Romance, power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 98,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27729529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWhitneyBex/pseuds/MissWhitneyBex
Summary: Following King Henri VI of France's surprise abdication, his son, Prince Francis is made king at aged sixteen as the new King Francois IV, entering the world of politics, ruling and love. At least he will have Mary Stuart by his side. Modern AU. Frary, Francis-centric.
Relationships: Claude de Valois/Luc Narcisse, Felipe II de España | Philip II of Spain/Elisabeth de Valois (Reign), Henry II of France/Catherine de' Medici (Reign), Kenna/Sebastian "Bash" de Poitiers, Leith Bayard/Greer Norwood, Lola Fleming/Julien Varga, Mary Stuart/Francis de Valois (Reign), Olivia/Francis de Valois (Reign)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. Love & Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Right, I'm excited to start this story, I've been working on it for a while and The Crown got me back into it. So, the first chapter is set in 2006 going from the day Francis finds out about his father's abdication and his subsequent rise to being King of France. I think every five chapters will be a new year, we'll see. At the start of each section of the chapter, there would be a date and/or timestamp to follow the story. At the end of the chapter, I have Francis's full details as this story is all his. This is mostly in Francis's view but some snippets will be either from a sibling's or parent's POV or even other characters like Mary. I hope you enjoy the first chapter, I rewrote it a lot of times and well, it's rushed but it helps get the story along, haha. This will be exclusive to Ao3 for now as I am dead busy and can't handle updating on two sites at the same time until my Christmas holidays coming up in a few weeks so for now, enjoy the chapters on here. Also, it will be updated with monthly instalments depending on how much I can write so enjoy until the next chapter.

_Tuesday 10th October 2006_

_7:30 AM_

It's everywhere. On the News, on newspapers, in magazines, on the radio... The shock announcement of King Henri VI of France's abdication at the age of 40. 40 years of age is so young, so strange in modern times to give up the throne. Normally, rulers would be on their thrones until death, in their old ages.

I was only two when my father claimed the throne of France. It wasn't meant to be, at first. It was meant to go to my uncle, Francis. However, at elder Francis's sudden death from a brain aneurysm at age thirty, four years Henry's senior, my bereft father was made the new heir apparent.

A week following the announcement, my grandfather, Francois III of France died from a broken heart over his grief for his favourite son's death. It shocked the world, the country and the chateau. Losing a prince and a king within weeks and now, a young father with three and a half legitimate children and one illegitimate child was to be king.

Until he abdicates fourteen years later.

And makes his sixteen-year-old son, me, a king in his place.

One second, I am Francis, the Duke of Anjou with a castle, Château d'Angers, in Angers and a secured spot in an elite private school where I have friends and clubs, my favourite being Football club. The next second, I am Francis IV of France, with a whole kingdom to rule over and three chateaux at my disposal in Fontainebleau which is our main seat, Versailles and Chambord. I could have had Chenonceau too, but Father gifted it to his mistress in my half-brother's mother, Diane de Poitiers. And now, as for Château d'Angers, it will be in my hold until I bear an heir. A little Duke of Anjou which will be named my son.

What sixteen-year-old needs castles, anyway?

"Your Majesty."

Turning away from the window, where if I looked hard enough through the little peek slit I made in the curtains, I'd see the crowds of reporters from all around the world, wanting to know why the King of France abdicated and what his sixteen-year-old successor will do next.

What I would do next...

But first...

"Don't call me that," I chide the page who blushes flusteredly. "'Sir' is fine."

"Yes, Sir," the man, Feron, says. "Your father wishes to speak to you."

 _Now, he wants to speak_ , I think before nodding and leading the way out, fixing my school blazer. There's no point in going to school now. I am a king now. Would I even be able to continue with my education now that I am a king? 

My father went through higher education, gaining a degree in Chemistry before joining the French Army, getting married and starting a family before being Henry VI. He’s had somewhat of a normal life before he took up his royal duty as the Father of France. 

Will I get that chance?

As I walk on, I’m suddenly aware of how _big_ Fontainebleau is. With 1500 rooms that include apartments for nobility or other guests of importance, kitchens, dining rooms, grand halls for events, a whole carriage and vintage car garage, chapel, horse stables... I could be here forever, listing the things my home contains.

Life in royalty... I have never questioned it or let it dawn on me, but now I technically own all of this...

I can practically feel myself pale in complexion as I near Father’s study.

When I arrive at Father's study, I knock thrice and wait to be let in. Father's voice rings through and I open the door, closing it behind me before seeing Father rise from his desk along with two familiar men.

The Prime Minister and Henry's top advisor, member of the Privy Council and courtier, Stephane Narcisse. They both look somewhat intrigued by the whole thing to me.

"Monsieur," the Prime Minister says, bowing his head. "I hear 'congratulations' are in order."

"He doesn't know yet," Father says, not bothering to look my way yet. "Well, now he does."

I glance at a seat and Father gestures for me to take it as he also sits down with the PM sitting down last after Narcisse. I have so many questions for him, so many things to say and it's daunting and scary and I am currently trying his best not to freak out and lose my shit over this.

"I'm sure you have heard the News," Father begins. "At seven o'clock this morning, I announced that I was stepping down from my position as Head of State. I did not give a reason as to why I was stepping down, only that my son would make a great king in my stead. Permanently."

"May I ask a question?" I ask softly.

"You are king now, you can do whatever you wish. Within reason," Father replies, clasping his hands.

I bow my head, staring down at my own clasped hands. "Why did you step down?"

Father sighs. "Monsieur Macron, Monsieur Narcisse, will you wait outside for a moment, please?"

The Prime Minister nods, then stands and leaves. Stephane leaves Henry a dossier before heading out behind the Prime Minister. He closes the door behind him as Henry stands and rounds the desk to perch on the edge of it to get closer to me.

"I became king when you were only two years of age," Henry starts, gaining my full attention. "And these past fourteen years have been... something. I was not meant to be a king, your uncle would have been a great king just as our father was but it was not meant to be and I became King of France."

"How sad for you," I say, almost spitefully, with a roll of my eyes.

Father raises a brow. "You can lose the attitude," he says.

"Sorry," I apologise. I don’t know the ins and outs of ruling a country, I don’t know what makes my father happy or sad. Lord knows what he was going through when he lost his brother and father so soon within thirteen days of the other.

"Anyway, to get to the point... I was happy before my royal duties. Happy being in the Army, being a husband-"

"An unfaithful husband-"

"And a father," Henry says, his voice increasing in sound. He stares me down and eventually relents, shaking his head. "I had you, Leeza and Margot, and your mother was expecting Claude. We had Montrésor where you'd play and we'd take you for walks by the river. The quiet life without crowns, politics and affairs of state. Then Francis died, and your grandfather died, and suddenly, we were pulled from the peace of Montrésor to the world of Fontainebleau, a place I'd not lived in since I was sixteen. A place I had not expected to inherit as I had wished for your uncle to be king and bear heirs so I'd be continuously pushed down the line of succession. But there we were. A new king, queen and his heirs."

I narrow my eyes slightly, turning to the dossier. "What's in there?"

"Your new duties, my boy. You have just turned sixteen last week, you barely know the world, Francis," Henry says, going to retrieve the large dossier. "Steps you need to take, to make things easier and bearable for you. You will need to sign a few formal papers. To affirm your new role in society. You are no longer a private citizen, you are ' _the_ private citizen'."

He retrieves the papers from the dossier and slides them in front of me. Three sheets, three signatures.

A plain piece of lined paper joins the other three.

"You might wish to practice your royal seal," Henry explains, handing me an ink pen.

Gripping the pen tightly in my hand, I imagine what I’d write before I slowly start practising my new signature. I am so used to using my private name in school, signing my workbooks or whatever else with 'Simon Anjou'. My middle name and the name of my duchy that I was given as the new dauphin of the French throne when Father claimed it.

Now _I_ am sitting on the throne.

"What would you wish to be called?" Henry asks me softly. "You might wish to be King Simon I or King Leon I or…” He pauses, swallowing hard. “King Francois IV..."

"What Uncle Fran would have been?" I ask tightly. "If he'd lived?"

Henry nods, his eyes falling. "Indeed," he says quietly. "It's your choice."

"F-Francis," I finally manage to say, practising my name in cursive letters. Then Father says to add 'R' for 'Rex', meaning 'king' in Latin. For once, I am glad I took my Latin lessons seriously at school now after failing it for two years.

'Francois IV R', the last practice flourish seems to be the best one, more confident than the first as well as the others before it overall. I even shortened it to write, 'FIV R' at Father's advice.

"You have neater handwriting than I ever had," Henry muses before sliding the official document in front of me and removing the practice sheet. "Now, do it for real, my boy."

I write 'Francois IV R' elegantly and when I get to the last letter, I release my breath that I didn't even realise I was holding. It's done. Well, the first step is done at least.

I dare not ask when my coronation would be. I already know my mother would order for ten rehearsals and dinner events to showcase her golden son's new role and hers as Queen Mother.

I quickly sign the other papers and close my eyes.

It's done.

It feels like a huge burden has been bestowed upon my shoulders. It has though, a whole kingdom and government to rule over at only sixteen years of age. Teenage monarchs haven't been a thing for centuries, right? Well, since Queen Victoria I if I can remember correctly. She was eighteen or nineteen when she became Queen of England. In France, monarchs assume the throne at twenty years of age and above since the 1900s.

"I know the next item on the list will be a bit difficult for you to consider but you must enter a courtship," Henry tells me. "We have two options for you. They will make good queens when you marry but you must enter the long courtship from now on."

"Who are they?" I ask, running my fingers through my long hair. Maybe, they’ll demand I cut it to look less girly and more manly. But I love my long curls and so does Mary...

"Amelie Narcisse, Stephane's niece. She is French, through and through. Her father is in the Parliament so they strengthen our ties to the government, even more, should you choose her," Henry informs me.

"And the other option?" I query.

Henry smiles wryly. "Your mother's favourite-"

"Olivia-"

"-D'Amencourt. The Italian girl,” he cuts my resigned tone off. “Strengthens our ties to Italy and she is related to a cousin on your mother's side," Henry replies. "Her father is in a high position in Italy and he has a brother in the Vatican. We would be seen as a Catholic country even more if you marry her."

I turn to my father. "What about Mary Stu-"

"Mary Stuart is half-Scottish. Her Scottish side is stronger than the French. She could be influenced by the British Royal Family with her royal blood ties in Scotland," Henry says shortly.

"Weren't you and the late Duke of Moray best of friends?" I recall, crossing my arms. 

It is true, it is no secret that my father left France to study in Scotland with Mother where they met the Stuarts and Mary’s mother, Marie de Guise who they already knew from France. Mary’s parents were studying their Master’s degrees by the time my parents joined the first year of university and they took on many sports activities together and became good friends along with the fathers of Mary’s best friends.

Henry sighs. "We were all close friends in university, yes," Henry replies. "And Marie de Guise is the Mistress of Europe and Foreign Affairs here... But Francis, you must put love over duty. If love rules both your heart and your head, you will let France slip through your fingers. With Olivia or Amelie, you have distance between yourself and them. They will only serve as your wife, the mother of your heirs. You will not be manipulated by them."

"Mary's my best friend, she won't manipulate-"

"You've more or less admitted you are in love with her," Henry states quietly. "And her mother has already arranged a marriage of convenience for her."

My heart drops. She's never made this public to me, that her mother has arranged a marriage for her. She will be sixteen in December, how has _she_ got an engagement already that I, of all people, do not know about?

"It's a long courtship. She will marry when she turns twenty-five with her agreement," Henry continues.

"To who?" I demand, making my father flinch a little at my raised voice.

"Louis Bourbon."

My eyes widen with horror and disbelief. "Louis Bourbon? As in my cousin, Louis Bourbon?"

"Kings do not get jealous, Francis," Henry tells me, collecting the dossier and flicking through it.

"Are we done here?" I snap instead.

"For now," Henry replies dismissively as I stand and head for the door. "Francis?"

I stop, sigh and turn to face him. "Yes, Father?"

"Back straight, head held up high. You are a _king_ , now," Henry tells me firmly.

I almost exploded at him. But I keep quiet, get flustered when I don't quite know whether to bow or not, so I settle for a firm nod his way and spin on my heel, leaving the room. All around me, as I walk, guards and other staff of employment at Fontainebleau bow or curtsy in my presence.

It makes things worse because suddenly, all eyes are on me, watching my every move. After years of insisting they don't have to bow or curtsy whenever I step into a room but only to acknowledge me with a kind smile or nod, they're forgoing it to do exactly what I despise. I hate attention, my sisters crave it but I hate it.

I thought that I would have years until the attention turned towards me but now, I have been plagued by a target on my back and now, all eyes on me. I even want to swear under my breath but that isn't very _kingly_ to do so.

Fuck ‘kingly’.

"Fuck," I whisper, passing through the entrance of the chateau into the fresh Autumn air.

My ride to school is not parked there.

 _So, kings don't go to school when they assume power at teenagedom_ , I think in disappointment.

Suddenly, the world feels a little lonelier.

...

_2:10 PM_

"You are now a sister to the King of France," Catherine de' Medici says as she walks in front of her five daughters, Elisabeth, Margaret, Claude, Henriette and Emone. "Everything you do reflects on your brother and now, what you thought would not come until your twenties, you must consider now. Marriage."

Elisabeth rolls her eyes hard, not caring if her mother catches it and when Catherine does, she returns the hard glare her mother gives her. "I am not going to accept whatever you choose for me. Father promised all of us that we would get to choose!"

"You do not even know our options-"

"They will be the sons of men in power that vie for Francis's right-hand position," Margaret says warily. "Noblemen's sons or sons of billionaires who can fund our lifestyles should the Crown lose money or foreign men to strengthen our ties in their countries. We'd be selling our wombs, and they'd be selling themselves. A supposed 'win-win' situation."

Elisabeth is proud of her twin sister. They are only fifteen, eleven months younger than their new king but they aren't dumb. They may be the smartest of all of their siblings. They can read people, they can hold private conversations with just a few looks and nods and blinks. If it was possible, they'd be the first twins to be rulers of a country and bring everyone to their knees at how superior their sharp minds are.

But their sights are set way lower than ruling a country. Their own father wouldn't wish it on anyone.

All they wish to have are quiet lives and normal husbands with normal jobs and kids and just... normal.

Normal.

"I, for one, do not care about who Mama and Papa make me marry," Claude says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "I'll be grateful and be the best wife I can to him and the best sister to Francis, our wonderful king and brother."

"Kiss someone else's arse, Claudie. Mama doesn't care," Elisabeth says, receiving a middle finger in reply as their mother gasps.

"Ladies! That is not how princesses behave, much less, Princess Royals!"

Elisabeth's back straightens at the title. That title has been used to discipline her into not misbehaving and their old governess would remind her that she was just as important as Francis as the eldest daughter in the family. Until her brother has a daughter, she holds that title and God, she can't wait to be rid of such a burden.

Margot escaped it, being younger than her by seventeen seconds.

"Now, _Madame Royale_ ," Catherine drawls, eyeing Elisabeth. "Your father and brother will be in attendance for your conference about your future husband. We have a good selection of potential partners for you."

"Yes, Mother," Elisabeth says warily, bowing her head.

"Follow me."

It feels like forever as they make their way to her father's offices. It's now just past two in the afternoon and she knows that Francis probably spent most of his morning and lunchtime mourning the life he had just yesterday. Her brother is tenderhearted like that, more emotional.

As she walks, everyone mutters "Madame Royale," under their breaths and she knows her mother mentally told them to, why wouldn't she? When she's not worried about status or power or even image, she's a wonderful mother and more lenient whenever they swear or act unroyal. In fact, her mother is the first one to remove her bra and kick her heels off when her royal engagements are over.

Becoming queen has changed everything for her mother who used to just live every day to the fullest, chasing her young children around their gardens in Montrésor, belly swelling with child year by year.

 _Damn Uncle Fran for dying_ , Elisabeth thinks selfishly before sighing and mentally apologising to the poor man.

It wasn't his fault he died so unexpectedly and then her grandfather soon after. It's life, it happens without anyone's control whatsoever. She can't blame anyone.

When they arrive, she respectfully curtseys for the senior royals in the room before giving Stephane Narcisse a nod of acknowledgement. She's invited to sit beside the older man as her mother takes her brother's other side, their father on his right.

"Do you know why you're here?" Henry asks, getting straight to business as he collects three files and orders them in front of her to view.

"Yes, Your-Fa-Father," she stumbles on her words, mentally face-palming.

"Leeza," her father says kindly. "This is not a formal meeting. 'Papa' is fine."

"Yes, Papa," she whispers, eyeing the closed files. "To select my future husband."

Henry nods. "You will wed when you are twenty-three years of age at _least_ ," he starts. "But you must start courtship to maintain the image of your relationship. It must have a timeline." He opens the files. "Eduard Narcisse, Philip Habsburg and Timothée Benoit."

Elisabeth looks through each of the files. She attends the sister school of two of the boys, Philip and Eduard, but she doesn't recall Timothée. She then scans down the page and finds that he attended the same pre-school as her and she almost rolls her eyes.

Philip is nice. A year her junior, in Francis's year and she's sure he's played a few Rugby and Football games with her brother. His family are Spanish nobility, and he attends their school branch, being a foreign student in their exclusive school which houses a boarding house for students.

She recalls flirting with him at their schools annual Sports Day where both girls' and boys' sections join together to compete in various activities. He could be a potential option if this is as much say as she gets as to who she'll marry and have kids with.

Eduard is a definite 'no-no'. His father sits beside her and he is a complete arsehole whenever his father is not around. He's cocky, full of himself and three years her senior at eighteen-years-old. The age gap doesn't matter now as she'll be twenty-three if she marries him but she definitely bins him in the mental trash bin in her mind.

She doesn't even bother looking through poor Timothée's file. She barely knew the guy and she's sure she remembers him eating sand from the sandpit when they were little.

"Philip seems nice," she says, clearing her throat and pretending she's less terrified than she is.

"Splendid choice," her mother says approvingly before turning to Francis.

Francis sighs and gives Elisabeth a small, wry smile. "You chose well, dear sister. I wish you and Philip all the best as you begin your dating period."

She can read his eyes, he hates this just as much as she does. She even believes he's barely even got a choice of options to choose from. They have probably done him the dirtiest but he hides his pain well, already being the smart king he is and saying things which will please others.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you, everyone," Elisabeth replies, making sure not to make eye contact with Narcisse who she's sure is quite disappointed that she didn't choose his son.

 _He'll probably thrust him upon Margot or his other son, Luca upon Claude...,_ she thinks before sighing heavily.

"Let's go through the other things of importance, shall we?" Her father suggests, handing out more files.

From her brother's eyes, this is only the beginning of their day.

...

_5:45 PM_

At six in the evening, I am obliged to make an announcement to the people of France and many other curious people in other countries. Before my speech, my mother has the royal tailors suiting and booting me up and the stylists taming my blonde curls and putting a touch of rouge on my cheeks, my eyes widening at the pampering.

Never have I had makeup put on, but I must look good for the cameras.

They even start using tweezers to tame those rebel hair strands of mine. I can get ready myself but suddenly, I feel like an infant or a child in need of people's aid to get dressed. I quickly grew out of my parents or governesses dressing me when I was five.

"Your Majesty, there is a phone call for you," Narcisse says, handing me the landline.

"Hello?" I request softly as the room clears to give me privacy to speak.

_"Francis..."_

"Mary," I breathe out. "So you know?"

Mary hums on the line. _"I heard from my mother that there would be a storm coming. Turns out, it's you,"_ she says lightly.

"Where are you?"

 _"I'm at home. In our apartments in Versailles..."_ People of the government who are also of noble birth were allowed apartments in the Versailles chateau and as Marie de Guise is the Mistress of Europe and Foreign Affairs and her older brother, Christian de Guise is the Minister of the Armed Forces of France, Mary's maternal family are very high in the politics of France and owners of the infamous duchy of Guise. _"I'm watching the News segment live. Your speech will come soon."_

"Yeah, in about fifteen minutes or so," I mumble. "Mary, I'm terrified."

 _"Deep breaths,"_ Mary says smoothly, my heart immediately going back to normal. _"Chin up and remember, you are Francis Valois. The most wonderful guy I know and you're going to be a great king."_

My eyes tear up and I take a much-needed seat, not caring if I crinkle the suit my team worked so hard to prepare for public viewing. "You're going to marry Louis Bourbon."

Mary takes a sharp intake of breath. _"I was hoping I'd get to tell you, Francis."_

"My father had the pleasure," I tell her tightly.

 _"The Bourbons have some sort of standing in France. Charles Bourbon is a member of Parliament and he is running for the position of the Minister of Solidarity and Health,"_ Mary informs me. _"My mother thought that it would secure her future prospects."_

My brows crease. "Like what?" I ask her.

 _"Running for Prime Minister, Lord knows,"_ Mary mutters dismissively. _"She's always hungry for power, Francis. You know my mother. I managed to get my way a little, by making sure I had time to be free. I won't marry for another nine years or so, thank God."_

I nod and see Narcisse re-enter the room patiently. "I need to see you," I tell Mary quickly, holding a finger up to Narcisse to give me a minute.

 _"My mother and I are going to Hôtel Matignon to stay with the Prime Minister and discuss business. I'm just there for show but I'll be there this week if you can't come to school,"_ she replies.

"I have a few meetings with the Prime Minister tomorrow, myself, as well as the whole team of Ministers," I say. "I will be there."

 _"See you soon, Francis. Good luck,"_ she whispers.

"Thank you," I reply before hanging up and handing Narcisse the phone.

Five minutes left.

I manage to make it all the way downstairs in time to address the nation from the entrance of the chateau, my parents standing on one side and my siblings on the other.

I catch Leeza's eye briefly and her gaze is enough to let me know that they are all on my side. They have my back; she, Margot, Claude, Charlie, Henny, Hatti, Emone and even four-year-old Louis all have my back.

There's a speech written for me on the podium in Narcisse's handwriting. I have never noticed how neat the man's writing is and it surprises me greatly. He must have nice handwriting if he's a chief advisor to the King of France but this is on another level, my own handwriting isn't as good as this.

Will I have to have handwriting lessons now? So people don't know the King of France writes terribly?

"Bonsoir," I start off, quickly glancing down at the next sentence. "It is an honour to be here, standing before you, as your new king. I would like to take time to extend my thanks to my father, Henri VI and his undying duty to France and her people." Everyone applauds my father who nods once in reply, ever the dignified and modest man he is. "I can only hope to be as just and steady as he was as he ruled France and when my coronation occurs a week from now, I hope you will all be there to celebrate with me as I am welcomed into my new role permanently as the Son of France and King of her people. Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité. Thank you."

The applause is deafening and I almost pale at the respect and applause coming my way. I wouldn't be here if not for my uncle's death, how peculiar is that? That one man's death, the same man whose name I bear in both regal name and everyday name, changed a whole line of succession and I am now a king from it.

"God Save The King," I hear my father say, only for me to hear as he applauds for me, a proud smile on his face which I am more than certain it's for the cameras.

But I don't say anything in return, nor do I smile. I keep a neutral face, hiding the fact that deep down inside, I am screaming.

...

_11:00 PM_

_"What honour has been bestowed upon me that I receive a personal call from the King of France himself, something which has never happened, may I add?"_

"I'm not in the mood for humour right now," I say sharply, undoing my tie and taking a seat as I bring the landline to my ear. "Hi."

 _"Hi."_ I can practically hear a wide smile in his tone.

"So, what do you think?" I ask with a heavy sigh.

I hear him scoff and chuckle before, _"What does it matter what I think, little brother?"_ , rings in my ears. _"Shit, can I even call you that, Your Majesty? Oh, double shit, I swore. I did it again, don't throw me in the dungeons and lock me up."_

"I hate it, you know," I say but a smile grows on my face as I rub my temples. "Father sprung it up on me this morning."

_"Oh... You're calling him 'father' instead of 'papa'. You must really be upset."_

"I'm not upset. I'm confused. I'm angry. I'm so… I don’t even know, I didn't want this, Bash," I say to him desperately, lowering my voice so no one hears even though I’m in the privacy of my own rooms. "I thought Father would be at least eighty before I became king! I'd be in my fifties, ready for this. I got to miss school today for the first time in my entire life. The one place I'm normal, where everyone knows me as the simple 'Simon Anjou'. Not the Dauphin of France or the Duke of Anjou or even the fucking King of France!" Tears clog up my throat and I take a moment to compose myself, sniffling as I reach for a tissue. "Fuck Uncle Fran for dying."

A soft sigh is released from Sebastian's lips. _"Don't curse the dead, Francis,"_ he chides me gently. _"It's not his fault he had a brain aneurysm, is it?"_

"Can I blame the doctors who couldn't save him?" I ask instead, closing my eyes.

 _"Knowing more about hospitals and medical stuff now, he would have been brain dead, Francis. It was over for him. Naturally, as the second child and only other heir, Father became heir apparent. Then, you became the one next in line. Closer to it than you were before,"_ Bash explains. _"It's life."_

"I have to get married in about six years. I'm now about to enter a long 'period of courtship'," I say. "With a girl, I don't give two shits about."

 _"Mary,"_ Bash says simply. _"I'm guessing she wasn't an option?"_

I scoff. "When has she ever been an option for me, Bash? Her mother has high goals and expectations but they are lower than being the mother-in-law to a king. She doesn't wish to have Mary marry into royalty directly. Mary's going to marry Louis Bourbon."

 _"It makes sense. They are both of noble birth and their parents have high positions in the government and Parliament. It's a political move, not one for love, just as your marriage would be,"_ Bash tells me.

I sigh. I don't want to talk about Mary anymore. I'd rather stick my eyes with needles than remember that my best friend since childhood and the girl I love, but has always been scared to tell her so, is getting married to my cousin of all people.

"Where are you?" I ask Bash.

_"Chenonceau as always. Why?"_

"Are you allowed to leave?"

Sebastian has strict curfews agreed upon by our father and his mother, Diane. He's allowed out of the house for recreational purposes between 4 PM and 10 PM, but it's just gone past ten and I know that the people who run the chateau under Diane's rule are just as strict as the woman is.

 _"You know I am not,"_ Bash replies, his voice quiet. _"If it had been an hour earlier..."_

"Yeah," I breathe out. "Sorry. I just needed time. I meditated. That's new."

 _"God, are you really that mortified with today's events?"_ Bash asks. _"Tell me you didn't do the most difficult position of all time, the Downward Dog. A king with a broken back is not a good look."_

I laugh, using my fist to stifle my laughter when I hear the door open behind me. "Just a minute," I tell the person, not bothering to turn around.

"Yes, Sir," I hear Narcisse say.

That answers my question.

"I have to go anyway," I tell Bash. "You will be there for me, won't you?"

 _"We will see because you know how it is,"_ Bash replies tightly. _"My mother and I have been shunned from society. How dare our father cheat on his ever-loyal and beautiful wife, Catherine de' Medici? I don't want anything to upset your image, even me."_

There are fifteen months between Bash and me. My parents had been arguing over the lack of children but insisted they were happy and that they would come soon. As soon as they had me, Diane, a former well-renowned actress, announced her fifteen-month-old son, Sebastian and that she was terrified Father would take Bash away from her so kept his birth a secret. But everyone soon found out eventually, shunning the de Poitiers family and Diane's young son from society as our father provided a home and monthly allowance for his illegitimate son.

The only reason we are close, Bash and me, is because our father was kind enough to allow us to attend the same school. I could only see Bash every day from Mondays to Fridays and even made sure to sign up to all the sports after school clubs Bash signed up for. Eventually, occasional dinners were scheduled to invite Bash to mix with me, my siblings and our father. But only Bash and never his mother.

It was sometimes awkward seeing Father try to bond with Bash but I know Bash's clear restraint in getting too close to Father and even us, in fears of having his beloved siblings taken away from him if he made one wrong move. I could never imagine living in such a fear of being ostracised from everyone I love.

"No, don't say that," I say quietly. "I will talk to you tomorrow. I'll call you."

_"I’ll be expecting your call then. Goodnight, Francis."_

"Goodnight," I tell him before hanging up. "Monsieur Narcisse, what can I do for you?"

"Your father has told me to make you aware that you will continue to attend your school to finish your education," Narcisse tells me much to my relief. "Your uniform will be prepared and your driver will be culled at 7:45 AM in time for you to leave at ten to eight. Goodnight, Your Majesty."

Narcisse bows and spins on his heel, leaving me alone in the dim light of my bedroom.

 _It's a start,_ I guess.

...

_Wednesday 11th October_

_5:00 AM_

I get up earlier than usual the next morning because of my parents' sudden appearance in my rooms. They call me up from the warmth and comfort of my bed into my private sitting room where I slump down onto a sofa, warily looking up at them. I have only managed to have six hours of sleep.

"It is five in the morning," I start, covering my eyes. "Could this not have waited for another hour?" _Or never?_

"It is important, Francis," Mother says, taking a seat beside me and brushing my curls from my face. "The subject of your rooms, darling. Naturally, this apartment is reserved for the Duke of Anjou. As you can see, you are no longer the Duke of Anjou. Your father and I are moving to apartments in the West Wing, the natural home of the King Father and Queen Mother as you move to our old apartments. Plural as the Queen will have hers and you will have yours but they are conjoined nonetheless."

I sigh and nod. "I see," I reply.

"We have an interior designer already working on the rooms," Henry tells me. "Your mother and I are going to Chambord for the month. To allow you to settle in and to rest. I, too, have duties I will carry out after my month break. I am returning to Service."

"You're going back to the Army?" I ask, surprised at this but not entirely. Father always spoke of his wishes to return to Service.

"My time there was cut short, I intend to return permanently," Henry replies, taking a seat and pouring us all tea that I have just noticed is present. "Don't worry, Narcisse will remain here to guide and support you. You will be informed of the state of affairs you need to oversee. Start from the bottom, they always put the ones they do not wish for you to get to at the bottom. But you'd know about them, mostly about finance affairs amongst other matters. and never show the PM too much favour. They are replaced every four years unless they are lucky. You do not wish to become attached, it is just business."

I swallow hard. "I see."

"You will need to time-manage properly. I see that your clubs have been cancelled for this week and next week to attend meetings and well, your coronation," Henry continues, sipping his tea. "I promise you, you will have a good hand at it soon."

"I hope so," I mumble.

"Is there anything you wish to tell us?" Catherine asks softly.

I reach for my mug. "Can I speak plainly or are you still in your 'king and queen' mode?" I ask them.

"We'll always be your parents first," Henry says, cupping my chin. "I can see it in your eyes but trust me, my son, you are destined for great things."

 _Am I really? We’ll just have to see_ , I think with a heavy sigh.

...

_8:20 AM_

School is unbearable. Students and teachers and other staff who used to not spare me a second glance now all bow or curtsy. I clench my fists at my sides and walk down the hallways to my locker, my security guards waiting outside. No one will touch me in the building.

My team has increased since my new role came to be and it's even more awkward. But students here are used to it, being children of important people or wealthy celebrities. The life of having security guards does not phase them but when there are guards for a _king,_ of all people… I can’t imagine what’s running through their minds right now.

I am glad that this is only the male half of the school, and the girls are in their own half of the school. I wouldn't be able to bear over a thousand students gawping at me. I see my friends at their lockers and they immediately bow as I see a surprised Bash heading towards us from the other entrance of the school.

"Your-"

"Don't you fucking dare," I snap before I soften and my friends blush and straighten their backs. "Leith, Julien, Remy... _Please_ , treat me like you already do. I just need a few people to act normal!" _I can’t bear it, I can’t handle it, just give me one bit of normalcy_ , I mentally beg them.

Remy chuckles, eyeing one of our teachers. "Yeah, Monsieur Verte has been less of a pain in the arse now that we're the best friends to the King of France. Yesterday, he gave us only one hundred Spanish sentences rather than the usual five-hundred."

"Glad to see I've made you receive perks," I chuckle, giving Bash a tight hug when he finally joins us. "You're late."

"Says you," Bash replies, letting go before going to bow with a smirk.

But I slap his shoulder and pull him up by the collar. "Do that and I'll punch you," I warn him and he knows I don’t take my threats lightly. There have been many scraps between us over the years that the teachers turn blind eyes to. They know it’s brothers being brothers and we always make up straight after.

"Who knew the King of France was so violent?" Leith asks jovially, leaning against his locker. "Oh, please, don't send me to the dungeons!"

The boys laugh at my expense and I sigh in relief, accepting it. It's as close to normal as I will get and I will take it. I even join in with the laughter as I stuff the things I don't need for my first two lessons before grabbing the books I do need.

"Why did your father step down?" Julien asks me as we walk to our first shared class after getting our books.

"Lord knows, Julien," I mutter, deciding not to let anyone in regarding my father.

During my first lesson, I don't pay attention at all. I rest my head on my palm, something a student would normally get told off for doing. This is an elite school, their standards are high, they are moulding and building the future leaders of tomorrow.

Well, guess what? _I am_ the leader of France.

"Monsieur Anjou," Madame Coulter says.

My blue eyes flicker to the woman and I see my friends looking at me in concern and slight intrigue as to how this teacher will speak to their new king. "Oui, Madame?" I reply.

Madame Coulter is conflicted but she finally says, "If you are tired, I'd suggest you take some rest at the nurses' office. I did hear there is the seasonal flu going around, Sir."

All the boys' mouths drop, even Bash's brows raise high as a kite and he is not easily phased by things. I sigh inwardly. My friends and half-brother may be normal but definitely not the staff here. I shake my head and smile at the normally strict teacher.

"Non, Madame, I am in perfect health. I had a long night last night but I am focused on today's lesson," I tell her, sitting up straighter and collecting my pen.

"I will have notes prepared should you miss anything," she replies. "But I am glad you're staying with us."

"I love Biology, I'll never willingly miss it," I say genuinely before she smiles and moves along with the subject about menstrual cycles. _God, are we seriously learning about this?_

If I had a phone, I'd text Mary about how strange and awkward it was to learn about the woman's body but I banish the thought and attempt to listen and make notes, even though I am having some made for me. I am getting special treatment already.

And it doesn't stop when lunchtime rolls around. Normally, I would pay for a hot meal but my friends, half-brother and I are invited to the school's private dining rooms where a three-course meal was presented to us _with dessert,_ free of charge.

They have servers open up napkins and lay them on our laps for us before being poured cordial to drink as well as water. My friends joke that they can get used to this kind of treatment. Bash, on the other hand, rejects the offer of food, feeling awkward on my behalf but I quickly request for a plate for him anyway.

We were literally picked from the dining hall, in front of the other students, and led to the private dining rooms. Throughout our meals with a simple dish of spaghetti for Bash, we are asked if the food is to our liking amongst other questions and inward worries the servers and chefs have.

I politely sate them with compliments and ask them to excuse us for privacy for the remaining twenty minutes of our one-hour and fifteen-minute lunchtime. Our normal school day ends at five with school clubs ending by six or seven depending on what they are so our lunch breaks are always this long to ensure we have enough food to provide us with the energy to last the rest of the school day.

I have never really noticed how long we have it until now when I am being served a three-course meal with time for dessert.

I am a flustered ball of atoms, listening to my friends talk animatedly over their meals as I slowly sip on my cordial. It's sweet in my mouth and I kind of dislike it but it's something to drink at least. I even wonder if I can get alcohol out of this. I am sixteen, there must be some thought into it as I’ll be expected to take the Holy Communion next week at my coronation.

Whenever someone pulls me into a conversation, I reply with noncommittal responses or even hum in reply, at times. I am so tired of this already and it's been over 24 hours since I became king. 

Is it too late to call backsies? It definitely is.

...

_6:00 PM_

"Your Majesty," the Prime Minister says, bowing. "Welcome to Hôtel Matignon, my home and your house of government. The Ministers are already in attendance in the drawing-room if you'd follow me."

I follow after the man and am led into a large drawing room where men and women all rise on my behalf. I give them a nod of acknowledgement before sitting at the head of the table with the Prime Minister across from me, the other people taking seats too.

Narcisse sits down on my right and slides over the lowdown of the people present here today. He even has included cue cards and I almost laugh when one is to acknowledge Mary's mother and uncle, with my being childhood friends with Mary.

I think I manage to do well and present myself splendidly with the cue cards, seeming like a man, a _king_ rather than a nervous sixteen-year-old. They bring up matters I do not know anything about but after quickly reading from the file Narcisse hands me, I am able to work around that and give the best response that I can so I don’t look stupid.

It's around half six in the evening and outside, the rain starts to pour. It's only the beginning of the meeting and the adults are quick with their wits, talking at fast paces to get through everything on the agenda. It's a two-hour meeting with _five-hundred_ items on the list. The thought of being here forever kills me little by little, I almost fall asleep already.

 _How could Papa sit through this,_ I ask myself as Narcisse writes down notes on my behalf. Surely, I am not expected to remember all of this? The meeting is even being recorded so I guess I can replay it back if I need to. It's God awful and boring and surprisingly, I'd rather school than this. I would rather do _two hours of algebra and simultaneous equations_ than this. And I despise them both.

"...anything else?" The Prime Minister says with five minutes left of the meeting.

 _Please, God, no...,_ I mentally beg them, eyeing everyone as they shuffle through their notes and files or whatever else.

"Actually," Marie de Guise starts as she lifts a finger, turning her attention to me in particular. "Your Majesty, should we all expect an invite to your coronation in the post?"

My brows raise. "Why, yes, you all should. You will have special seats and be able to invite your families. Confirm with my people the number of guests you will be bringing," I tell them all as Narcisse starts packing our things away.

"Wonderful," Marie says, a gentle smirk playing on her lips as she lowers her gaze to her work.

I finally stand up, my legs thanking me with the rest of the people rising. I turn, leaving through the opened door. Narcisse and a guard follow after me as I make for the exit but I stop at the stairs, turning to the PM. "I have other business here. Is there a private room I could use?"

The Prime Minister nods, showing me the way into a private sitting room. "Shall I retrieve anyone for you?" He asks me.

"I heard a friend of mine from school is staying here," I tell him, dismissing my guard and Narcisse to wait outside the room.

"The Mistress de Guise's daughter?" The Prime Minister enquiries, slightly surprised. "Yes, she is staying here."

"Fetch her for me, thank you," I say as a butler places a tray of evening treats and tea on the coffee table. "Thank you."

Five minutes later, Mary is ushered in and as soon as the door closes behind her, I stand and hug her tightly. I feel her chuckle into my shoulder and squeeze her even tighter.

"You'll squash me to death, Francis," she says to me, muffled before I let go begrudgingly. She then curtseys and I roll his eyes. "I mustn't forget myself. How are you faring, Your Majesty?"

I smile a little, gesturing for us to take a seat. "I hope I don't have to tell you to call me 'Francis' when we're alone," I say, chidingly.

"Ooh, I'm alone with the King of France. What could happen here?" Mary asks cheekily as she takes a block of chocolate from the tray and bites into it. "They make great chocolates here. But it's no Versailles."

I give her a wry smile before leaning forward in my seat. "Mary, I need to tell you something..." I trail off nervously.

Mary's brown eyes flicker to my blues, just as nervously. "Francis..." She whispers sadly.

"I think you know, by now," I say quietly.

"I'm more or less engaged," she mumbles.

"So am I. I don't know who my future wife is yet, but we'll enter a period of absolute bullshitness," I tell her.

Mary lets out a soft chuckle. "Do kings swear?" She asks teasingly before her smile leaves her face. "There's nothing we can do about it."

"Why didn't we get together sooner?" I ask her, taking her hands in mine. "If I'd known I'd be put in this position, I would have made things official. So, they wouldn't be able to do this, split us up anyway. We’d be able to have a life together. I’m guessing your mother made this match as soon as she found out I was king?"

Mary nods sadly. "She did… I don't have to get married for another nine years and you... six years," she starts off quietly, just for my ears. "We could make it official, Francis. Until you're marrying some pretty girl who will be your queen." Her gaze lowers down to our hands and she feels my warm hands squeeze hers.

"I love you," I tell her quietly, in case someone is listening in.

Flickering her eyes up to meet my own, she smiles warmly. "I love you too," she says easily.

"Let's do it," I tell her. “Let’s make this official until then.”

...

_Thursday 12th October_

_7:10 AM_

It has now been two full days since I have been King of France. I woke up with a smile on my face and now, the smile remains as I eat breakfast alone with Narcisse telling me what to expect today via conference call. A knock sounds on the door and I politely pause Narcisse in his tracks to cull the person inside.

"Margot, good morning," I tell my sister, gesturing for her to take a seat.

She does and reaches for an apple. "How are you?" She asks me kindly.

"Great," I say.

"I'm surprised. I thought you'd still be mad at Mama and Papa. More at Papa but mad nonetheless," she replies. "I thought I'd come and see how you are before we go to school. Everything is different."

I turn to her in slight surprise. "For you too?"

"There were whispers before, yes but now, they are to our faces. Claude is loving it but Leeza and I are... overwhelmed. Normally, the attention is welcomed but not so much now," Margot says softly.

I snort. "I perfectly understand," I tell her. "The boys were teasing me about being king all day. I preferred it actually, over the nervous mental questioning of whether to bow or not or worrying about saying the right or wrong thing..." I pause to take a bite of my toast and chew it before swallowing it. "You have Madame Coulter for Biology on Fridays, don't you?"

"Yes," Margot says, waving the server away when he places a hot breakfast in front of her.

"And you know she's a right…” I search for the word to call our beloved shared teacher. “Bitch."

Margot laughs and nods. "Yes," she replies.

"Well, guess what? She _tolerates_ me," I tell her. "I wasn't paying attention yesterday and suddenly, she's concerned if I'm sick and suggests I go to the nurses' office as she'll prepare notes for me."

"She never prepares anyone notes. We're supposed to do it ourselves and remember as much as we can," she replies, surprised. "Wow, being a king is great."

I nod. "It has its perks..." I drawl before sighing. "Are you happy with your choice of spouse?"

"I'm not," she says honestly. "But his connections will prove valuable to you so... I can't complain. Our first date is next month." She starts cutting her sausages into pieces. "He's booked a boat ride."

"In November?" I ask, sipping my juice. "It's a bit cold for an outside date, isn't it?"

"It makes for wonderful photo moments according to Mama," Margot explains. "If it's in private, it didn't happen and no tongues can wag about romances and the sorts. Our lives are one big publicity stunt."

I eye my meal, silently agreeing with her. I have more or less committed myself to a whole private relationship with Mary so I know more than ever how much our lives being one big spectacle means.

"It's going to be fine though," I finally say. "And no one can deny you anything, and that includes a private life. If you want, people can look the other way if you have someone special."

"That would look bad," Margot muses. "And I've already ended things. Thank you, though. I hope the same goes for you."

"We'll see," I say quietly before we continue eating in silence.

...

_6:45 PM_

"Is this our first date? Guards waiting outside as we enjoy dinner in the only landmark people can associate France with?" Mary asks as she shifts the escargots neatly placed on her dinner plate.

I smile wryly. "I'm sorry. It's the best I can do on short notice. Monsieur Flint had us running laps for Football so I'm tired."

Mary reaches across the table and grips onto my hand. "I don't care, as long as I'm with you," she tells me fondly. "And it's not so bad. It's as private as it can get and your parents are none the wiser."

"Hmm," I hum, picking apart my basic salad with my fork. "I've got a strict diet now. I thought kings could do, eat and drink whatever they wanted."

Mary retrieves her hand back and lifts her plate before using her other hand to roll some escargot onto my plate. "There. It will be our little secret."

"What a devious girlfriend I have," I reply to her, lifting her now free hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it. "If I could marry you, what ring would you go for?" I eye her bare ring finger as she laughs.

"We're barely sixteen, I'm not even thinking of marriage. Louis will probably give me a family heirloom," she mutters dismissively.

"Yes, my mother has already suggested her engagement ring to give to my future wife. A ruby, white-gold thing," I tell her. "My father had it done in Italy for her, so she had a piece from home."

Mary beams. "That's so romantic. Apart from the fact he'll later cheat on her and have a whole love child scandal but... he's a romantic, I guess."

I laugh and shake my head a little. "Well, he is no longer the king so you don't have to hold your tongue when it comes to him." Then I tap her finger. "Go on, tell me about your dream ring. Don't you girls think of _everything_? Down to the heels you'd wear on your wedding day?"

Mary raises her brows. "Yes, my friends and I have discussed our dream weddings. They all had one thing in particular which was the same."

"What?"

"We'd all marry princes," she says, making us laugh. "But we all know that is not a reality right now, no matter how many times Kenna prays for it to happen."

"So you, Lola, Greer and Aylee are the realists?"

Mary nods. "Most of the time," she says. "Anyway, I'd love something blue. Like sapphire blue."

"Why?"

"Blue represents both my Scottish and French roots," Mary tells me. "And it must be a gold band. Mother says gold represents wealth and power."

I admire her, how her smile brightens even more in the evening glow of the day. She wears a white, flowy, long-sleeved sophisticated dress that reaches her ankles with strappy heels and silver jewellery around her wrists, neck and in her ears. She's the vision of natural beauty and as much as I wish to make her mine forever, she's engaged to someone else and so am I.

That brings me to my news for her. My father has pressed for me to make a decision so that I will meet my future bride tomorrow. I don’t know who to choose, I don't even want to choose anyone but it is my duty. I must choose duty over love.

"I'm sorry to ruin this wonderful date we're having-"

"Spit it out, Francis. You can tell me whatever is on your mind," Mary cuts me off kindly.

I sigh. "I have to choose my future wife tonight. And I'll meet her tomorrow with her parents and on Saturday... I have my first date with her."

Mary only smiles warmly and nods in understanding. "Who are the options?"

"Narcisse's niece and Olivia D'Amencourt."

"Olivia. You should choose Olivia," Mary says quickly. "She's lovely. Her family runs that animal shelter in the countryside, don't they?" She continues to eat her meal as if she's not just told her boyfriend to choose his future wife. "And she's blonde so that will increase your chances of having a cute, blonde baby. Something your mother would adore."

"Mary, are you ill?" I ask her in concern, feeling her head but having her swat me off. "You're saying good things about _Olivia_ ." _You despise Olivia_ , I leave unsaid.

Mary chuckles, a twinkle in her eyes. "I can't get jealous, Francis. I'm going to marry your cousin so... She's the best of two evils, isn't she? Narcisse can play you like a puppet if you marry his niece."

I raise my brows so high, they could disappear under my curls. "Mary Stuart, are you a savant in politics?" I tease her, grabbing my water.

"I make it my business to know things, Francis. My mother might need my input one day," she replies. "And well, I'm going to study Politics or Law, in university. So, maybe I'll be your Mistress of Europe and Foreign Affairs, in the future."

"I don't think a marchioness of another country can be a Minister of another country," I reply dubiously.

Mary only smirks. "I have connections, remember? Just because my father is some Scottish duke and I was born in Scotland, does not make me any less of a French citizen. Since he died, I've been living in France, my education has been in French schools, I can write and speak French fluently. I'm French through and through at this point."

"Well, if you'll be my future Mistress of Europe and Foreign Affairs..."

"Will I extend that into being your mistress?" Mary finishes my unsaid words.

"I doubt you'll fall for Louis," I say quietly, keeping my gaze down low as I nervously pick at the table cloth. "And the only thing I'll give my wife is children... not my heart."

Mary bites her bottom lip. "Because I'll have that?"

"Mary-"

"We're young. We don't have to think about that right now. Just meet Olivia officially and see how that goes, alright?" She suggests cheerfully but I can clearly see her facade waver. "Let's enjoy the rest of this date. I see the waiter is bringing steak over. I love steak."

I try to enjoy the rest of the date but my unspoken request hangs between us. I am only sixteen and Mary’s almost sixteen herself, and I am already suggesting the same thing my father did to my own mother. Have an affair of love behind my dutiful wife. People have said that I am my father's son but I never realised the possibility could be in the case of negative situations.

Pushing that to the back of my mind, I request for Mary to join me for a dance, just wanting to hold her tight in my arms and feel her heart beating for me only. She's warm in my arms, she always seems to be. My fingers run through her raven, straight hair, fixed only by one butterfly clip as we sway to the piano piece that plays.

She looks up at me, her brows furrowed in that way they always do when she's unsure of something, of whether to say something or whether to do something. But then the creases in her forehead relax and her eyes settle into acceptance before her lips press against mine ever so softly.

Naturally, my hands find her cheeks as our lips mould together and I feel like all the breath has been removed from my lungs. Then the world feels less lonesome than it was before and all I want to do is pull Mary into my arms and never let her go.

 _Don't let me go and I'll hold onto you in return_ , I think, hoping she gets the message.

She seems to since her grip on my hips tighten on me and she exhales into our kiss happily.

I let myself smile too.

…

_Friday 13th October_

_5:45 PM_

"Your mother is happy," Henry says as we walk to dinner. 

"Because I chose Olivia?" I ask knowingly.

Henry doesn't say anything as we reach the doors of the dining room and the doors are opened for us. He lets me inside first as the table's occupants stand at my presence in particular. I take a seat at the head of the table, Father sitting down on the other side with Mother beside him. When I wave my hand a little, everyone else sits down.

"Your Grace, may I introduce you to Lady Olivia D'Amencourt," the Marshal of the Court says as Olivia stands and curtseys. "And her parents, Comte and Comtesse Giovanni and Christina D'Amencourt." The couple rise and bow or curtsy before they all take their seats. "His Majesty, King Francois IV and his parents, His Royal Majesty, King Henri VI and Her Royal Majesty, Queen Catherine." The Marshal leaves.

After much debate, my firm decision to allow my parents to keep HRM status was granted. Father had not wanted it but it's what I want as a punishment for bringing me into this too soon. From the content smile on Mother's face, I can easily guess that she is happy with her title. They will both have the 'royal' aspect to their names as a courtesy and since they are still senior to me, despite me being king. They will always be my parents first.

"It is wonderful to meet you," I finally say as the servers start presenting our first-course meal, a small bowl of bœuf à la Bourguignonne. I don't continue until the servers leave us in privacy. "Olivia, you look... wonderful this evening."

Olivia smiles widely, raising her glass of sparkling water my way. "May I also say, you are just as handsome, Your Majesty?" She replies in a hybrid accent of French and Italian.

"Thank you," I reply simply before starting to eat after noting everyone else's eagerness to eat. The King always eats _first_.

There is a knock on the doors and I nod at the Marshal to let the person in. It's Narcisse with a stack of papers and he looks apologetic. A glance Father shares. _No rest for the wicked,_ I think glumly as I accept the ink pen from Narcisse's hand and start to scan and sign the final arrangements of my coronation amongst other things.

By the time the second meal arrives, I am done adding my signature to the papers with Narcisse disappearing. The conversation going on is mostly between the Queen Mother and Comtesse D'Amencourt and I mostly observe quietly, sharing polite smiles and glances with Olivia whenever she tries to get my attention. I will leave our conversations for tomorrow.

"...be invited to the coronation. You will have front row seats, I will make sure of it. In fact, I will take care of it," Catherine insists much to Christina's pleasure. It makes me scoff to myself, the thought of a thousand or so people I do not know watching me receive a crown on my head and a sphere as I wear a royal _habit_. All of these new terms baffle me.

Then again, I was two when Father had his coronation.

"...planning his royal tour already. It will not take place until he finishes school in two years but it must be planned to reduce room for errors on anyone's part," Mother continues. "There is so much to do. He has not even picked his coronation crown. There is a selection of five to choose from, each of them worn by the greatest Kings of France but hopefully, he’ll choose the Crown of Charlemagne."

"I am sure his choice of coronation crown would be splendid, Queen Mother," Giovanni replies kindly, eyeing me briefly. 

I give him a small smile before glancing back down at my meal. I am not that hungry and all the beef has filled me up so now, I feel like a sitting duck. There are so many other things that I could be doing than attending this dinner where Mother keeps talking everyone's ears off.

 _I cancelled Game Night with my friends for this_ , I think glumly.

But I keep my opinions to myself. I am the gracious and kind and most inviting king there is, I can't afford to insult my future in-laws. I still wonder what Mary really thinks about it but we both know what this means.

Neither of us can afford to get jealous.

...

_Saturday 14th October_

_11:20 AM_

"We could not talk much," Olivia starts as she holds her tennis racket in her hands nervously. "Last night, at dinner with our parents constantly looking at us for any tells." She laughs a little as I only stare back. "So, do you like Tennis?"

I head to the other side of the net. "I dabble," I say, catching a ball from a ballboy. "You?"

"You didn't really answer my question," Olivia replies, brow raised.

"It's not my favourite sport. Make of that what you will," I tell her coyly before using my racket to bounce the ball in one spot to test it. I then move to the serving area and wait as she gets into position.

The Royal Sports College includes many courts of various sizes for different sports. I remember when Father cut the ribbon to the entrance when I was ten. Within a couple of years, it became an elite school to train the best for the Olympics and other sporting events of importance.

I even know some people who attend the college for extracurricular activities. That is how good the place is but I rarely go unless necessary. We have private sporting grounds at all of the chateaux so I never really need to leave home all that much. And when I was little, I was susceptible to get sick so my parents fretted over me constantly until my immune system was stronger.

I serve the ball and she quickly hits it back to my side before I hit it back to hers. Neither one of us give up and we end up making about twenty passes before she loses and I gain a point, the umpire granting me it. She looks agitated with it and I hope she isn’t failing on purpose. I like challenges, not easy wins.

 _A victory without effort is worse than a defeat_ , Father would say.

She eventually catches on to my train of thought because she tries harder and she eventually is leading ahead of me but I equalise our scores easily. She plays well, but Mary is better. Mary could do so much. She does Ballet, she’s on the girls’ Football team, she does Netball in the Winter and…

 _Think about Olivia,_ my mind chides me. Mary must be put to the back of it for now as I spend time with my future bride. 

Olivia isn’t the most hideous person in the world, she is beautiful so I will give her that. She can hold her own so she likes to be challenged. She has a fair share of knowledge about politics but she mostly stays to home affairs like functions and household duties. As we hit the ball side to side, we learn more about each other.

She is an only child and when she becomes a mother, she would like many children to make up for her lonely childhood. I tease her and tell her she could have all of mine which she brightens up at, hoping to get closer to my siblings anyway.

“I’m surprised we barely catch each other at school,” she says when we finish our game and grab some orange squash to drink. 

“Sports Days are always busy,” I remind her of the only time both halves of the school are joined together. “What House are you in?”

Olivia only smirks. “You don’t pay attention, do you?”

“I…” I don’t quite know what to say to that. Some people say I have selective hearing when it comes to people I’m not close with. “I didn’t catch it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Olivia mutters, wiping her forehead from sweat. “Where to next?”

I wave Narcisse over and he arrives with a parasol for Olivia as he shows me our schedule for the day. It’s hours upon hours of activities to do as I get to know Olivia better and the next one after our finished game of Tennis is a film.

“The cinema,” I tell her. “I hope you have brought your sense of imagination.”

Olivia swallows her squash down breathlessly. “I’m ready.”

…

_Sunday 21st October_

_7:00 AM_

“Your Majesty, a phone call for you,” Narcisse says, leaving my temporary sitting room in the Palace of Tau as I accept the call on my telephone.

Today is the last day anyone should be calling me. In a couple of hours, I will be formally crowned as the King of France, finalising an already done deal. After school, I have had rehearsals after rehearsals and when today is over, I will finally be allowed to rest and manage the country from a distance with the government handling things for me and Narcisse acting as an anonymous regent of sorts.

So I have a fancy title without the responsibilities.

“Hello?” I say, checking my new suit in the standing mirror. It’s a navy blue suit with a white dress shirt, dark blue tie and brown Oxfords. My hair has been styled so my hair has been gelled back, tucking loose curls away from my face as everyone needs to see it. There is not that much hair product as I will be wearing a crown and I do not want to ruin centuries of royal wear with hair products. The last thing I want is Charlemagne haunting me after destroying his precious crown.

If I had decided to join the Army just as my father, uncle and many forefathers before me had done, I’d be wearing my military medals. But I haven’t had the chance to serve as I am too young to. The minimum age for joining the Army and military service in France is eighteen years of age. I’m two years short and going to my coronation with no honours. I’m only a simple boy who has only passed some exams at school but has not seen the world.

 _“I wanted to say ‘good luck’,”_ I hear my half-brother say. _“How are you feeling? Today’s a big day.”_

I sigh and turn away from the mirror, viewing the reporters waiting outside beyond the gates to catch a glimpse of me travelling from Tau to the church. “I feel like throwing up,” I say honestly. “I must be the most underwhelming king France has ever seen. I have no honours or anything to show. People will think a _boy_ is being crowned king.”

 _“A boy is being crowned king,”_ Bash states. _“You’re sixteen, you’re allowed to feel nervous. Just… forget about everyone and focus on yourself and something that makes you happy. Use that one thing to get through the day.”_

“What about everyone staring at me?”

 _“They are meant to, little brother,”_ Bash chuckles. _“But if you’re talking about everyone waiting for you to mess up then… think of them naked.”_

I choke, rolling my eyes hard. “God, no,” I breathe out. “I am _not_ thinking about anyone naked-”

_“It helps with public anxiety-”_

“No. Suggest another option.”

Bash tuts and I can practically see him roll his eyes over the line. _“My first point, thinking about the thing you love throughout so your focus is on that and not the fact that thousands of people are watching you live and perhaps millions across the globe.”_

“Gee, you’re really making this better,” I say sarcastically.

 _“You’re welcome,”_ is his reply. _“I’m sorry I can’t be there. Mother’s hosting a party though, for those who couldn’t attend or were politely requested not to…”_

“By ‘politely’ you mean-”

 _“Anything but. Father invited me but Mother said if she couldn’t go, I couldn’t go,”_ Bash informs me. _“But I’m going to be watching from home. I’ll raise a glass of something strong for you.”_

I laugh softly, slowly pacing the room. “Don’t tell anyone this but… Mary and I are seeing each other. And I’m also publicly dating Olivia D’Amencourt. Our relationship will be ‘exposed’ today after the coronation where we’ll take official photos to begin the timeline of our ‘relationship’.”

 _“Congrats and I’m sorry,”_ Bash says. _“And how does the Marchioness Moray feel about being the ‘other woman’?”_

“She’s not the ‘other woman’,” I hiss before sighing and realising that she _is_ in a way. Olivia’s going to be my wife and Mary’s… well, she’s marrying my cousin. “We love each other, Bash. We can’t help it, can we?”

 _“No, and you can’t kiss or act loved up at your coronation either. You have an image to uphold, even after you marry Olivia. If you can both handle this then go for it but… be careful,”_ Bash warns me. _“Kings can’t always get what they want.”_

I close my eyes and swallow hard. “Sometimes I wonder why Dad didn’t legitimise you or something so you could be king.”

 _“Don’t joke about shit like that. No one is equipped to be king or even a queen. It’s the life you are dealt with, accept it,”_ Bash says. _“Just remember, you aren’t alone and you have friends and family who love you and are there for you. Yes?”_

“Yes,” I affirm.

_“Good, now go and get yourself a crown and fancy new cape.”_

He hangs up before I can even say anything more and I laugh to myself, placing the phone back onto its handle before continuing to get ready along with telling the clergy and coronation officials a few more minor details to decide on. I have practised and practised over and over my vows and how to wear a crown and walk with one. 

For breakfast, I am treated to a selection of fruits, cheeses and meats along with brioche bread and orange juice. To protect my suit, I have a napkin tucked into my collar as I read the day’s newspaper about my coronation as my Chamberlain, Harold’s apprentice and son, Felix de la Tour, feeds me or hands me morsels of food to eat. I could do it myself but I find myself distracted by all the news articles talking about me.

[French King As Old As My Career]

[Can Henri VI’s Protégé Last Beyond 14 Years On The Throne?]

[New King’s Secret Affair With Franco-Italian, Olivia D’Amencourt]

 _Mother’s already spilt the beans_ , I think, glancing warily at the last title. I wonder how Mary will take that. 

After much discussion, I have been allowed to have my dearest friends attend along with Mary and her friends and their families. It did not take that much convincing as our fathers are all old friends and I am sure my father would appreciate being around men he grew up with, in his adolescence.

They will have seats close to the front at my insistence and I could already see my father breaking formation to heartily greet their fathers now the puppet strings which controlled him when he was king has been cut. And placed onto me.

Finishing the rest of my breakfast by myself, I hear the door to the dining room creak open and I turn in my seat to give my youngest sibling a smile. He’s holding his favourite stuffed bear, Laszlo and his blue eyes are a stark contrast behind his dark brown hair as he shuffles towards me, holding a letter.

“Happy Birthday!” He cries out, stepping back when I take the letter in my hand with a chuckle.

Coronations are considered to be second birthdays so I stand from my seat and peck Little Louis’ forehead. “Thank you,” I tell him, opening up the letter to see his childish drawing of me in a crown with his scribble saying ‘Happy Birthday’. 

“Is your throne big?”

“You’ve seen my throne,” I tell him.

“When it was Papa’s,” he replies and he isn’t wrong.

I sit down and pat my thigh, Louis jumping up onto my lap and snuggling into my chest. “No matter what, I will still be your big brother.”

He smiles at this and gives me a relieved glance before hopping back off and hurrying out the door just as Narcisse narrowly misses him as he enters. I give the letter Louis gave me to him with clear instructions to put it somewhere special so I can always look at it and remember how wonderful my little brother is.

Just as my father shared a special relationship with his older brother and still shares a special relationship with my Aunt Charlotte, my own relationship with my siblings, full and half, has been wonderful too. I can count on them just as much as they can count on me in return.

Before I know it, it is time.

…

_8:50 AM_

The coronation itself is not the most important part of today, I have been taught. It’s the _Sacre_ , the anointing. Archbishop of Reims will crown me, who is assisted by four suffragan bishops of his ecclesiastical province, and of the Bishop of Langres and Chapter of the Cathedral of Reims. It’s a whole grand affair and the closer I get to the front of the Church, the more I feel like collapsing.

And I’m not even wearing the crown yet.

The coronation takes place at Notre-Dame de Reims and the singing of the canonical hour of Prime has just occurred which means that I can enter the cathedral. The hymn 'Veni Creator Spiritus' is begun to be sung by choirboys as the spectators rise and remain silent. Then, the prayer, "God, the Ruler of heaven and earth..." is said before Terce is sung.

The vital players in today’s events get into formation as I continue down the aisle. I catch Mary’s eye as she stands beside her mother, older half-brother, James Erskine-Stuart and uncle along with her friends and their own families as my friends take to my other side with their families. As I turn to the Stuarts and de Guises, once more, Marie de Guise gives me a slight nod as Christian smiles politely. But it’s Mary’s reaction I care about as she gives me a warm smile before curtsying as I pass by with the rest of the congregation that I now pass, forming some sort of a wave as I walk. 

Finally, I reach the front and see my parents standing in their pews, my mother as proud as one could be, and my father seemingly fighting back his tears. I wish to give them some sort of acknowledgement but with the cameras and thousands of eyes on me in this room, I can’t and only look ahead.

The coronation proper begins with the bishops' petition that the traditional rights of the Church be maintained and my reply of agreement, followed by me taking the coronation oath, in the reinstated Valois era on the Reims Gospel. Then the Recognition part of the ceremony takes place followed by the singing of the Te Deum. The prayer, "Inscrutable God, etc." is said before the buskins and spurs are placed upon my feet and my invested and gird with the Coronation Sword, Joyeuse, with the formula "Accept this sword from our hands, etc." The antiphon is said from Psalm 122:1 before I then proceed to have my habit and suit blazer removed as my shirt is undone to expose my quite boyish chest, upper back and joints of my arms. My father had said something about forgoing this part but I overruled him, not wanting to upset tradition and having everything done to the final detail as it should be with a few changes. I am no longer a boy, I am a man.

As the special versicle and response and a collect (which is unique to the French rite) are said, a paten (with Chrism on it) is put on the altar, before the Abbot of St. Remi presents the Saint Ampoule to the Archbishop, who with a small golden stylus removes a small particle from the contents of the Sainte Ampoule and carefully mixes it with the Chrism on the paten.

This part intrigues me as I watch them work quietly and efficiently to prepare this on my behalf. The whole ceremony which I had originally been wary about now actually interests me as it’s the real thing. No one will waste all of this for a practice run.

I kneel while the Litany of the Saints is chanted by two archbishops or bishops, before concluding with two prayers. The Archbishop then says the formal prayer of consecration before he sits and anoints me with the Chrism in the form of a cross on the top of my head, on my breast, between my shoulders, on both shoulders and on the joints of both my arms, each time saying, “I anoint thee, king, with holy oil in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

More prayers and statements are said with “Amen,” ringing through when needed. Then the Archbishop and the assisting priests and deacons do up my shirt which was opened for the anointing part when I stand up. This is where I’m vested in a tunicle, dalmatic and royal mantle in the colours and material of azure blue velvet sprinkled with gold fleurs-de-lys by the Grand Chamberlain of France. I then kneel once again for my palms to be anointed by the Archbishop who recites the _Unguantur manus istae_. He then ends the anointing session by reciting the prayer _Deus, qui es iustorum gloria_.

Looking up, I watch as the royal gloves are then blessed with two prayers before they are placed upon my hands. Then the ring is blessed and then placed onto my finger with an original French formula and a prayer before the sceptre is put into my right hand with another special formula and prayer for that moment. The Hand of Justice is put in my left hand with yet another special formula and prayer. And the final garment, the one I’ve been practising walking with, the Crown of Charlemagne is taken by the Archbishop from the altar with the special formula being said before it is placed on my head, the eleven peers of the Archbishop touching it with their right hands. The Archbishop then recites the prayer, _Deus perpetuitatis_ before saying a number of blessings.

I am then led to my throne before sitting down as the Archbishop continues his citings before the choir starts singing. After their song, the Archbishop says another prayer before concluding it by kissing my cheeks and proclaiming, "May the king live forever" as everyone acknowledged me as their duly anointed, crowned and enthroned king, repeating his words and putting their coronets on.

I am now, King of France.

I was before, but this solidifies that and now, it is my role until my death or otherwise.

…

_12:00 PM_

It is traditional for the newly crowned monarchs and other members of the royal family to sit for official portraits at Fontainebleau so as I currently stand alone in my new garb as my parents and siblings wait to have theirs done with me, I feel quite hot and stuffy. The clothes are starting to itch and I am sure I’m sweating through everything with all the bright lights and eyes on me. 

_Just for today_ , I tell myself. _And then it’s over_.

Eventually, my family are invited for a grand sitting with me seated at the very front on a quite regal velvet blue chair. After this, I have a fourteen-course banquet waiting for me and I can feel my stomach rumble at the thought of eating food until evening where fireworks and other nightly events will be held in my honour. 

My birthday did not get this much fanfare, but now this is technically my second birthday. I will have one for the quiet moments with close friends and family and another for the nation to celebrate and rejoice. I wonder how my 17th next year would go, would I even be able to plan it so nobody goes over the top?

By one o’clock, I am allowed some time to myself and I excuse myself to my rooms after ditching the crown, cloak and everything else I will get in trouble if I ruin. Those things are centuries worth of relics, I am not about to destroy them.

“Fra-Your Majesty.”

Turning around, I find the boys waiting for me and smile in relief, about to hug them all. But then I remember where I am and who I am and direct them into one of the drawing rooms that happen to be near where we are, away from curious eyes who are waiting for the fourteen-course banquet that starts in roughly thirty minutes.

Closing the doors behind us, I turn and find Julien, Leith and Remy all bowing low and as much as I want to berate them, I allow it to happen as they rise soon after. It is only for today, after all. Tomorrow, I’ll kick them if they try it.

“Congratulations, you held your own,” Julien says proudly, hugging me first as he slaps my back gently.

Leith is next. “You looked very… kingly,” he offers which makes me chuckle as I move onto Remy.

“At least you didn’t shit your pants,” he tells me. “I almost did for you when you looked like you were about to collapse from all the weight of the items on you.”

“Glad I have friends who will shit their pants for me,” I reply happily. “So, I’m officially the King of France.”

“Now, you can kill anyone you like and get away with murder,” Leith says, searching for something before finding a bottle of liquor in one of the cabinets. “Shall we?”

Usually, I would be up for drinking underage but now, I must set an example, even behind closed doors… 

_No, fuck it_ , I think, grabbing the bottle from his hands, unscrewing it and taking a large gulp before squinting. I swallow the burning sensation down and shove the bottle back into Leith’s hands as he roars with laughter, taking his own sip and passing it on.

“God, I needed that,” I tell them, eager when the bottle returns to me. I take another large gulp and pass it alone once more before stuffing my hands into my pockets and pacing the room. “Could I really, though?”

“What?” Remy asks.

“Kill someone and get away with it,” I state with a roll of my eyes.

The boys choke before they laugh and nod, claiming that monarchs are untouchable but may be accounted for their actions when they’re no longer on the throne. I knew this to be the case for my father, and there was some huge scandal in the early years of his reign (as well as my half-brother's existence) when I was little so don’t remember much about it. He wasn’t held accountable then, and the situation seems to be quiet now so he may not even be affected by it.

“Why?” Leith finally asks. “It was partly a joke but you seem serious.”

Of course, I am not serious, but if I could and I mean if my conscience could allow me, I’d kill any guy who had Mary’s hand in marriage who wasn’t me. I’d even kill my own cousin but I’m not a murderer nor do I even have those kinds of thoughts.

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumble, rubbing the sides of my temples. “God, I’m tired.”

“The day isn’t over yet,” Julien tells me.

“Nor this overall,” Remy says.

Leith stalks up to me with the bottle and hands it to me, urging me to take a sip as he tips it down my throat. “Francois,” he starts. “This is only the beginning, Your Majesty.”

As he says that, I chug more alcohol down my throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francis's details:  
> François (Francis) IV Simon Léon Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 6th October 1990. Age: 16. Titles: King of France & The Son of France
> 
> French Kings' Coronations:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coronation_of_the_French_monarch


	2. Sincerity Within Our Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years on from the last chapter, Francis and Mary's relationship faces dire consequences, leading to a whole set of events which make or break their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters take forever to write. I have an outline of what I'd put etc so I'm now thinking that each chapter is a different year or month etc. I hope you guys enjoy the next chapter. Apologies in advance if there are spelling, grammar mistakes, I'm using two apps which hate interlinking with each other whenever I got through my work multiple times so hopefully, everything is good.

_ Tuesday 11th October 2011 _

I don’t know how it happened or who was the cause of it. But suddenly, I’m in the middle of a huge scandal and Mary looks at me hopelessly as we scour through all of the News outlets, the TV informing us of everything we already know. 

[ROYAL HEARTBREAK. KING OF FRANCE CAUGHT CHEATING ON FIANCÉE]

[JUST LIKE HIS FATHER, THE KING OF FRANCE CAN’T KEEP IT IN HIS PANTS]

[ROYAL CHEATER]

[ROYAL LOVE RAT]

[LADY OLIVIA HUMILIATED BY KING’S LOVE AFFAIR WITH SCOTTISH MARCHIONESS]

“You’ll have to choose her-”

“Mary-”

“It’s over, Francis,” Mary croaks out, both of our heads turning to the door sharply when someone knocks on it.

“Come in,” I say, taking a heavy seat as Mary pulls on a robe and covers up her lack of clothing. She’s only in my shirt and I’m not too dressed up either in my jeans.

Narcisse cautiously enters the room and closes the door quickly behind him. He heads to the windows and discreetly looks out of them before lifting my blazer from the floor and handing it to me. He quickly dials a number and brings his phone to his ear.

“I’ve located Fleur,” he says. “We will leave right now.” He hangs up and sighs. “The hotel’s surrounded, Sir. We have a car waiting for you. As for the Marchioness…” He shrugs helplessly at Mary’s way. 

_ Of course, their main concern is me, not her. And Olivia would be ‘devastated' about the whole ordeal _ , I think spitefully.

“Give me five minutes,” I tell Narcisse and he looks at me in uncertainty before nodding and leaving just as quick as he entered.

Mary immediately shrugs off the robe and takes my shirt off her frame, chucking it my way as she scrambles for her clothes on the floor. Tears are sliding down her porcelain cheeks and I want nothing more than to wipe them and kiss her and promise her that everything will be okay but I can’t. I have to go. I have to do damage control, I can just hear my mother’s heels click-clacking to a phone so she can reach me and scream down my ear about ruining everything my father and his father and so on built.

“We knew the risks,” I say softly.

“We had five years,” Mary breathes out. “Happy Anniversary.”

Tears spring to my eyes at that. It is indeed our fifth anniversary and now, there won’t be any more. Our lives will diverge into different paths and I will probably never get to see her this intimately again. She would rise through the ranks of her career in Politics and we’d see each other across a table, giving daily briefings instead of kisses.

“I hate it,” she hisses. “I hate Olivia. I hate everyone for condemning us.”

I sniffle, wiping a tear. “Come on, Mare. We didn’t really believe we could have it all, did we? This is having my cake and eating it. We were skating on thin ice.”

Mary scoffs and pulls her dress down before fixing up her hair. She then thinks about it for a while before she comes up to me, cupping my cheeks. “End things with her. You’re the king, you could be with  _ me _ . We could do great things together. You and me.”

“I can’t-”

“Why?!”

“Because, Mary, I must put the Crown over you!” I cry out. “It always will be the Crown first. Never you, Mary. I can’t give you what you want! But Louis…” And it destroys me to admit it. “He can.”

“He’s not you,” she sobs.

“Good. Because it will be easier,” I tell her firmly. “Forget about me, forget about what we had… Just move on.”

She stops crying, dries her cheeks and puts her heels on. She then passes me to grab her handbag and coat, sending me one last look before she leaves the hotel room and Narcisse returns.

“Your Majesty?”

I sigh heavily. “Which exit?”

“The back.”

“How long?”

“I think you know, Olivia,” I say tiredly.

We’ve been over this for hours, going back and forth and somehow she can’t quite believe that I don’t love her. Not after all of these years of ‘being together’. I can’t stand her most of the time and the first time we had sex, I guiltily thought of Mary. I almost called her ‘Mary’ and I feel awful and shitty but I just… Mary’s the one and will always be the one. The one that got away.

Olivia starts hurling abuse at me in Italian, switching to French at times as she paces the room, mascara-stained cheeks and all. She grabs at me, begs me and starts crying all over again repeatedly. Then suddenly, she’s composed and she sighs, feigning defeat or telling herself to get over it, I don’t know.

I have never seen Olivia like this. Not even when she used to ask me if anything was going on with Mary because she could see the looks we gave each other at every event we were both present in. Olivia’s now somehow a ball of fire and anger and despair, I don’t know how to control her or what she’ll do next because the look on her face is… It’s more than resignation, it’s determination.

“They have asked me to do an interview. For some skincare line,” she says. “I know they will ask me about this.”

“What will you say?”

“The truth.”

“You can’t.”

Olivia scoffs before smiling cruelly. “Oh, don’t be afraid, Francis. I will just tell them how heartbroken I am to see and hear all of these rumours. All of the truth that surrounds them but I won’t actually confirm them. That is suicide for  _ me _ , not just you or that whore.”

My eyes flash a darker shade. “Don’t you  _ dare _ call Mary a ‘whore’!”

She chuckles bitterly. “I don’t think you’re in  _ any _ position to tell me what to say or not say. You’re the one who went in her, not me! She’s the one who came onto a taken man-”

“You’re the one!” I cry out. “Not her. I was with her before I got with you! You’re the other woman.”

Olivia’s face pales and she sinks into a seat in realisation. She stares at the stupid engagement ring I was forced to put on her finger last month at Margot and Leeza’s 20th birthday party. My mother’s former ring and now it’s Olivia’s. She looks at it as if it’s insulted her and the next thing I know, it’s on the floor in front of my feet.

“You deserve each other,” Olivia hisses, spitting at me before leaving the room and screaming at poor staff who happen to get in her way by accident.

Bending down, I lift the ring and look it over, making sure it’s not damaged. It costs in the region of millions, being given to my mother as a declaration of love from my father.  _ I’m not like him. I love the woman in the shadows, the one in the light is just for show… _ I mentally curse.  _ I’m just like him _ .

There were definitely days my father mourned what he could have had with my half-brother’s mother. I even wish I could call Bash and talk to him but he’s away on Army business. I had completed my three years in the Service in August before retiring prematurely to focus on ‘stately affairs of the country’. But I’ll never turn down a good opportunity from them.

I wish I could call any of my friends but they’re all in the Army, having been convinced by their fathers to join and serve their country. Bash joined out of both duty and lack of anything to do. He had got good results by the time he left school but nobody really cared about what he did so he went to do something more worthwhile to him. I’m sure he’s in good hands though, just as I hope the same goes for Leith, Remy and Julien. I miss them terribly.

Over the years, it became impossible to keep my relationship with Mary from them. It was unspoken between Mary and me when we both spilt the beans to our respective friends. They were happy for us but Bash had been wary, reminding me that I was playing with fire despite initially encouraging it. But I understood his fears, Mary and I were sixteen when we got together, we’re now twenty-one or almost there. That’s five years and now… 

The whole damn world knows.

The door opens and my mother hurries inside, arms crossed and her eyes darker than I have ever seen them in my entire life. I can hear Olivia still screaming the place down, shouting at poor bystanders, and Mother closes the door to cease the annoying noise coming from my ex-fiancée.

“You will get back with Lady Olivia-”

“Mother-”

“You will forget about that Stuart girl-”

“You liked her once-”

“You and Olivia are France’s Son & Daughter and that is  _ final _ ,” she hisses. “Your father’s poor heart almost gave out when he found out the news in Belgium! He’s on his way now, to talk some sense into you,  _ remind _ you… the other woman  _ never _ wins. Oh, dear God before we find out she’s pregnant!”

“We’re not like you, Father and Di-”

“Don’t you dare say that putain’s name!”

I bite my tongue. My half-brother’s mother’s name will always be sore to my mother’s ears. She’d give over as if she’s been punched if anyone brought the woman up. Surprisingly, Diane de Poitiers has been flaunting her infamous deeds, no longer ashamed that she was once the mistress of a king. Life’s too short to play like the victim for the rest of your life. 

Is that how Mary will turn out to be? Shallow, vain, stuck with my illegitimate child and spiteful against me in vain?

I never wanted to ruin Mary’s life, we’ve been through so much together. I fell in love with her the moment I gave her that daisy when we were kids. How her eyes landed on me and she gave me that shy smile before slipping her hair behind her ear and being culled away by Leeza or Margot. That part’s hazy because all I could think about was how she wore a red dress and a red rose in her hair.

“I thought being king meant I could do as I wish,” I say quietly.

My mother’s eyes flicker back to me and for a moment, she seems to be pitiful. But then her gaze hardens and she shakes her head. “You’re meant to serve, not be served.”

“What a life to live,” I snap. “Maybe I should pull a Father and abdicate! Didn’t Queen Elizabeth’s uncle leave the Crown for love? I won’t be France’s puppet if I won’t get the one thing I need.”

“There’s a difference, Francois,” Mother begins chidingly. “Between  _ want _ and  _ need _ . You do not need Mary Stuart. You  _ want _ her and guess what? You never had her. Whatever this thing between you was… it was a fairytale and all good fairytales must come to an end. You should know better. I thought your father was a clear example.”

She leaves me to my thoughts and I lift the phone, about to call Mary but I find myself unable to. I am the one who told her to move on, I have no right in calling her up and moaning about my life to her. I don’t have that courtesy anymore, she isn’t mine to whinge and whine on.

And it destroys me.

* * *

_ Sunday 1st January 2012 _

“Francis and I… will be wed on the 31st of January. Mark it in your calendars!”

Everyone applauds, lifting their flutes in regards to mine and Olivia’s special announcement. Mother had somehow convinced her, although I know it didn’t take much convincing, to take me back. That I would be faithful as soon as those wedding rings bound us in everlasting marriage in front of God and Country.

I excuse myself from the stage, people bowing or curtseying or congratulating me on my wedding nuptials and I smile politely, accepting their kind words. To them, the situation between me, my ‘lover’ and Olivia has been put to rest but it’s far from that when there are no eyes or ears. 

It’s an ongoing argument between Olivia and me, whenever Mary turns up in the News or whenever one of my siblings brings her up or even one of the guys… It’s like no matter where I turn, Mary is the sore subject brought up again and again. I can’t escape her despite setting her free.

_ 31st of January, the day my life will be over _ , I think glumly before chastising myself. I’m not dying, I’m just going to be committed to a marriage I never wanted in the first place. People reminding me to put duty over love and whatever bullshit they come up with to try and make it bearable for me. But it’s not bearable nor will it ever be. The only way this is all bearable is if Mary and I are together.

I leave the ballroom and head towards the grand stairs. As I walk down the hallway, I come across an opened door to one of the private sitting rooms, hearing familiar voices. Going closer, I peek through the door and frown when I see Mary and Bash, nursing glasses of Whiskey. 

Mary’s here because her family is always invited to events and just because of a love affair scandal, it would harm  _ us _ more than  _ them _ if we stop inviting them. And her mother and uncle hold powerful positions in the government which means we’d always submit to them as the government rules the country’s politics and other matters where we smile and wave and pass laws the government provides us.

Bash is here for the honours session of the New Year’s event for his contribution and services to the Royal French Army. He’s been all around Europe, Asia and Africa and I believe he’ll be staying until February, so he can attend my farce of a wedding to Olivia with a permanent wince on his face. He’s always there to show what I truly feel deep down but am not allowed to show.

“We should tell him,” Bash is saying and I frown.  _ Tell who _ ?

“It will hurt him-”

“He’s getting married. It’s a done deal, Mary. What more do you want to give you a sign that this,” he starts as he takes her hand. “...is right?”

My heart sinks and I back away in shock. I am known for jumping to conclusions but  _ no one _ does that unless they are in a relationship. Have Bash and Mary been together behind my back? Is that why she gave up so easily on us when I told her to move on? Or did she take my words so literally, she moved on, all the way to my own brother’s bed?

“We’ll tell him after the wedding,” I hear her reply. “I don’t want to hurt him now.”

“Mary… There’s nothing he can do. He can’t risk tarnishing the image of his family-”

“ _ Your _ family.”

Bash scoffs, takes a pause and sighs wistfully. “To the Royals, I’m nobody. I don’t think the girls have even texted or called me in years. And Charlie and Henny occasionally call but they’re busy with their many extracurriculars. Did you know they’re doing Pig Latin?”

Mary chuckles softly before sighing. “Francis and the rest of them love you.”

“I am nothing more than a charity case to them. Henry made sure of that,” Bash says. “My mother keeps reminding me to know my place and I do. I am careful but I want something that’s mine, not something used to keep my mother sated or meaningless gifts that can easily be taken away… God, Mary, I’ll even move to Scotland if you wanted me to. I love you.”

“Bash…”

“I know you’re not ready to say it back. Francis was your first,” Bash says quietly. “But I wanted you to know that. It being a new year and everything. I love you.”

“In just over three years, I’ll be married to Louis Bourbon. I’m still in the same position as I was with Francis, now just with  _ you _ . With Francis, it was easier because we’d both be each other’s ‘other person’ but you… You want to dedicate your life to me when I can’t guarantee you one?”

Bash takes a sharp intake of breath in. “Yes. That’s what people do for the ones they love. They don’t mind being in the shadows. Mary, I don’t care if you’re with Louis 24/7 and with me for five minutes… As long as we have each other. Then it’s alright.”

Daringly, I sneak another peek through the door and see Mary inching herself towards him. Before I know, their lips touch and I look away, heading down the hall to my original destination. I rip the stupid sash off my shoulder and chuck it to the floor, a staff member walking by quickly picking it up and bowing. I ignore him, make my way upstairs and undo my bowtie, chucking my blazer to the floor.

My mind’s spinning, my heart is racing but most of all, anger courses through me and I let it release through punching the mirror on the wall, shattering it to pieces. A sob escapes my lips as my hand starts to throb, blood and glass caking it when I look down at it. I hear the door open and feel my hand being pried from my chest as I sink to the floor.

“Listen to me,” Narcisse says into my ear. “You’re going to let me sort this out and you’re going to sleep whatever this is off as your mother hosts the honours event. Perhaps you have had too much to-”

“Escort the Baron of Poitou out,” I say, my voice full of gravel.

Narcisse frowns deeply. “Y-Your half-brother, Sir? The honours event has not even started-”

“Escort him out,” I demand, glaring at him. “And make sure the Marchioness of Moray is with her family for the remainder of the night.”

Narcisse sighs heavily, sinking to the floor beside me. “You found out.”

“You knew?” I hiss.

“I had my suspicions. I overheard a phone call when the Marchioness came with her mother last week,” he tells me. “I had thought it was innocent but she seemed… carefree and happy.”

That makes me feel sick as another sob escapes my lips and Narcisse rubs my shoulder for some sort of comfort. It brings none as I sniffle and he swallows hard, unsure of what to do or even say to take the pain away.

“There’s a woman,” he starts. “I have to watch her be with another man and if we were together, we’d be frowned upon.”

I turn to him. “Why?”

“She’s… a school friend of yours. Well, of the Marchioness’s. Lola-”

“Flemming,“ I mumble. “She’s with one of my friends. Julien Varga.”

“Indeed.”

“How did you…?”

“She arrived to pick the Marchioness up when the affair…” He trails, making me wince. “After I sent you on your way, you told me to check up on the Marchioness and she had gone to the ladies’ restroom, leaving me and her friend at the hotel lobby. We got to talking and I realised… She was just like…”

“Martha.”

Martha was Stephane’s wife, the mother of his sons Luca and Eduard. She died of cancer just after Luca’s birth and it devastated my equerry greatly. He’d sometimes bring Martha up, call her an ‘old soul’ and she had the sharpest of blue eyes. I had seen a photo of them on their wedding day, my father present in the photograph of the couple with close friends and relatives.

“An old soul,” Stephane whispers in awe. “The sharpest of blue eyes. If I didn’t know, I’d think she was Martha reincarnated.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“I am deeply sorry too, Your Majesty,” he says before his jaw sets and he gets to work with fixing my hand.

* * *

_ Friday 20th January _

It is eleven days until I marry Olivia. The wedding preparations have taken a lot out of me, along with the knowledge of my ex-girlfriend’s secret relationship with my half-brother. They have both betrayed me, forced me more into Olivia’s arms when I thought I had a chance to fix things, to make things right.

Everyone has noticed my shift in mood since New Year’s Day and I don’t quite care whenever I snap at an employee or take it out on Narcisse who seems more understanding these days. They are all afraid to cross me, to be victims of my growing and irate temper. I am impatient, they believe me to be just like Olivia, controlling and abusive but surely, they realise I was not always like this.

Dress rehearsal after dress rehearsal drains me. We had a grand engagement party and photograph session last week that took my energy as well as interviews about our engagement this week. Dinner rehearsals tire me too and I feel sick of the food, of the cakes, of  _ everything _ , just wanting to sleep or do anything other than think of the damned wedding bestowed upon me. My mother is elated about the whole affair as Father mostly keeps his opinions to himself, other than the times he tells me that I am “doing the right thing”. 

I can see Henry feels guilty, almost pitiful of me because he was in my position once. He seldom sends me uplifting bullshit and other words of wisdom he thinks will power me through my heartbreak and sorrow over Mary and depression over Olivia. “She’s not the worst bride in the world,” is another thing he’d say. But he doesn’t know Olivia like the rest of us do, she’s the worst person in the world, let alone bride.

I pace my bedroom, finally allowing some moment of sanity for myself, to build my wall back up again before I face the wedding planner and Olivia all over again for the final arrangements. My ears prick at the sound of Mary’s name being called on my TV and I glance over at it warily.

[“ _ The Marchioness of Moray, Mary Stuart-de Guise is planning on joining the French government as she gets her foot up the political ladder. Her mother, Marie de Guise, the Mistress of Europe and Foreign Affairs is said to be supportive of her daughter’s newfound career choice following the Marchioness’s unfortunate affair with the King of France, Francois IV. We will hear more about the Franco-Scot in just a moment after the weather…” _ ]

_ So, she’s here to stay _ , I think. It would have been easier for her to go to Scotland and start anew but she is intent on not letting our failed relationship stop her from getting what she wants in terms of the political games. Her mother is running for the role of Prime Minister any year now, so she must be at a suitable career spot to help her mother run for the role. And being Louis Bourbon’s whispered-about fiancée helps things greatly. 

A knock on the door draws my eyes towards it as I glare at it hard, willing the person to leave. When I hear Narcisse’s voice, I concede and open the door myself before my eyes land on Bash.

“What are you doing here?”

He flinches at my tone before the corner of his lips quirk upwards. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed today?” He asks me, entering my room as Narcisse bows his head and leaves us. 

I close the door and turn to face Bash. “What do you want?” I ask tiredly.

“You’ve been distant, little brother,” he says simply and I scoff and roll my eyes hard.

“Don’t know if you’re aware or not, but I have a wedding to plan,” I snap, rounding him to pour myself a glass of water at my private bar. “Olivia has had me in her clutches 24-fucking-7.”

“Then let me take you out,” Bash says. “Somewhere, anywhere. To get your mind off of things. I don’t even think we’ve planned a Bachelor party for you.”

“I don’t want one,” I say. “And who would even be there? The boys are all on tour. They’ll only be allowed leave to attend the wedding before heading straight back after it.”

Bash sighs heavily. “Come on, let’s do something…”

“Sebastian,” I say sharply and his brows raise before his eyes narrow suspiciously.

“New Year’s Day, Narcisse told me I had to leave,” he tells me. “I received my honours through the mail. Do you know anything about that?”

I shrug. “I was unwell, I left the party early,” I say, bringing my glass to my lips.

“Yes, you did,” he says quietly, eyeing my hand. “Heard you hurt yourself.”

I flinch when I realise that my cut-up hand is the one I lifted my drink with. It doesn’t hurt as much as I was lucky enough that it healed quite nicely so I could remove my bandages. My excuse was that I had a headache and accidentally hurt my hand when I attempted to pour myself some water to drink to take my painkillers with. I was obviously met with dubious glances, especially when the maids came around to fix my bedroom and saw the broken and bloody mirror. They said nothing.

I give up on being oblivious. “You’re a fucking traitor.”

“What?” Bash asks, looking genuinely surprised. “What did I do?”

“How long, huh?” I ask him. “How long have you been in love with Mary?”

He pales and takes a seat before leaning forward and covering his face. “Shit.”

“Yes,  _ shit _ !” I cry out, chucking the glass at the wall and making him jump. “You have no idea what you’ve done… I thought we were  _ brothers _ but all along you were…” My voice breaks and I sniffle, bowing my head to stop tears from spilling.

“Do you want me to lie to you to make you feel better or to tell you the truth?” He quietly asks me.

My eyes meet his. “I’m not a fucking kid anymore. Tell me the truth. I want all of it. I want to know when you both started this  _ thing _ ,” I spit the word out. “And I want to know how much of it was behind my fucking back.”

“I loved Mary for years,” he says, laughing slightly before sobering up. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything. I thought about you. I put  _ you first _ . But when the affair broke out… I thought long and hard about it and before I could do anything, she was at my doorstep, lost and heartbroken. She told me what you told her, the argument you had and… one thing led to another.”

I let out a strangled cry. “You’ve been waiting all this time,” I ask. “To have your moment when you’d… Years. You said ‘years’. How long is that?”

“Six or seven years, I don’t know,” he breathes out.

“So, when Mary and I got together? When you gave me advice about her?”

Bash shrugs helplessly. “I never wanted to hurt you, we both didn’t want to hurt you.”

I sigh heavily, glaring at him. “You were right. You were nothing more than a charity case to us. You’re  _ nothing _ without us. And you will always be  _ nothing _ .”

Bash doesn’t even react to that as he stands and fixes his blazer before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Thank you for confirming what I already knew,” he tells me, his voice strained as he heads for the door and then stops. “I may be ‘nothing’, Francis... but at least I have Mary.”

All I see is red and the next thing I know, we’re fighting. I hear the door open and close quickly and I feel someone try to pull me off but I shove them away and reach for Bash’s neck.

“Francis, stop!” Father cries out. “Francis, you’ll kill him!” The door opens and closes again. “Narcisse, don’t just stand there, help me!”

_ I’ll kill him? Well, that’s great because it’s my fucking intention to do so _ , I think darkly as Bash tries to claw me off of him, his fist connecting with my nose in the process and sending me back. Blood spills everywhere through my fingers and Father hurries to me as Narcisse keeps that bastard back.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Father cries out, making me jump. Never has he reacted this way during my years as king. I’m the senior authority now I am of age and he has never dared to raise his voice at me, preferring to talk to me or berate me in gentle whispers and chiding, clipped tones.

“That half-breed,” I spit, feeling the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “Is  _ never _ welcome here or anywhere else I own again. And that includes Chenonceau.”

Father pales deeply. “Francis, Chenon-”

“I want it back with the Crown. I don’t give a shit how it’s done, I want it done,” I say firmly before standing and shoving him off me as I lock myself in my bathroom.

I’m shaking, my hands are caked with blood and my face too. My shirt is ripped, my skin torn and tears spilling from my eyes. The two people I could count on most in the world, who have been there for me since the beginning of my reign… they betrayed me and used my heart in the process. I feel like I can’t breathe.

Clamping a hand over my mouth to stop any sobs from coming out, I close my eyes shut tightly and inhale and exhale deeply. It calms my temper down and I start running the taps with my free hand, hissing when the hot water scalds my hand. I let the cold tap run some more before the water is of a suitable heat for me to start cleaning myself up. There are blood droplets on the tiles and I know my sitting room looks like it’s been through the wars. I don’t think about that though, knowing it would look like nothing ever happened in a couple of minutes under Narcisse’s orders.

My phone starts buzzing in my pocket and I slip it out, seeing Mary’s name on the screen. As much as I hate her right now… I can’t help but answer it despite everything. 

“Y-Yes?”

“Louis is dead,” she whispers. 

My eyes widen and I study my broken nose already bruising up in the mirror. “Shit. What?”

“Yes, uh, he and his eldest brother… Marcus, I think? They were on their way to a summit on their father’s behalf in Dubai and their private jet failed. I am obligated to attend their funeral, so I wanted to give you a head’s up that I will be around.”

I frown.  _ Why does she need to tell me… oh. _ Louis and Marcus were my cousins. As the King of France and relative to the deceased, I should offer my condolences to their remaining siblings, Antoine and Madeleine as well as their father, Charles. Their mother died when they were young so I know this will set an already stern Charles back even more. Two sons in one day…

_ Doesn’t that mean Mary’s no longer engaged to Louis? She can’t marry a dead man… _ , I think to myself.  _ But on the other hand, this enables her to marry Bash. He could give her freedom but not the power she craves. _

“I know,” I say, holding a facecloth against my nose to stem the bleeding. “About you and Sebastian.”

“Francis, I-”

“Goodbye, Mary,” I whisper, hanging up as tears slide down my cheeks.

My phone beeps with a text and my brows furrow deeply as I read: [From Mary Stuart:  _ Why won’t you fucking fight for me? _ ].

And I remember what Bash told me only moments before this one… that he had her. 

I feel the last piece of my heart, break into pieces.

* * *

_ Tuesday 31st January _

I wake up to the sound of bells ringing, signalling my ‘big day’. It’s more of a funeral for me than a wedding but I am tired and I already want the day to be over. It’s almost seven in the morning when I look over at my alarm clock, hitting it when it goes off seconds later. I sit up, check my phone for any missed calls and texts and mostly see ‘bonne chance’ messages from my siblings or friends. 

Just as I am about to put my phone down, I get an article notification and open it up to see a story about Mary’s lack of grief over what would have been her future husband as she busies herself with making out with Bash on the balcony of her apartment. She had moved out of Versailles after we broke up and I’m sure she’s not the only one living there as she doesn’t quite like living alone. It unnerves her, she says. The idea of someone not being able to be on hand for help whenever she might need it. I agreed, relieved that I had a whole chateau worth of staff to be there and not make the place feel big and lonely despite the loneliness I felt regardless whenever we weren’t together.

Something about the photo of Mary and Bash stings my heart and I wince, chucking my phone to the side and getting out of bed. It’s a really uncomfortable feeling and whenever I see them together, I just want to throw up and fight them off each other’s grasps.

But I can’t.

The door opens and I mentally curse when Olivia enters the room, dressed in some really revealing, satin white dressing gown. She saunters up to me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“We’re getting married today.”

I smile wryly. “We are,” I confirm, pulling her off me so I can head to my bathroom. “We’re not allowed to see each other before the wedding.”

“And so? You’re the king, you can make whatever decisions you want.”

_ Not always _ , I think as I say, “They will be looking for you.”

Olivia giggles, running her hands down my back as she pulls my hips to her front. “I don’t care,” she says into my ear, nipping it. “I just  _ had _ to see you.”

I stop myself from gagging. I’ve succumbed to many of her advances unwillingly but lately, sometimes I didn’t care. Not since Mary and I broke up. I let Olivia have her fun, have her way with me, as long as I could pretend she was Mary in my head, it was bearable.

Today though, the last thing I want is Olivia’s hands on me as I shove her off me, cursing at my brashness. 

“Olivia-”

“What is wrong with you?!” She cries out, rubbing her arm with a wince. “Jesus Christ, sue me for wanting to screw my fiancé before we got married!”

“We should save that,” I say quietly. “For tonight.”

Her face softens and she looks at the finished bottles of alcohol at my bar. “Rough night?”

“No Bachelor party so I had a party for one,” I say warily, finally getting a chance to brush my teeth when she takes a seat in the sitting room and waits.

I reek of alcohol and my eyes are red and bloodshot. I’m not in any shape or form to be called a ‘king’ at this point but after I’m cleaned and fixed up, I transform into something I don’t recognise. Every time I’m reminded that I’m a king, I recognise myself less and less but Mary… Mary helped me remember who I was underneath everything. 

I was a guy who liked school despite the gruelling work they put us through. I was a guy who loved Archery and Fencing with my older brother after school. I was a guy who was taught how to ride a horse at age eight by my father and Bash, their shared love for horses actually providing some topic of conversation between them. I was a guy who was very ill as a child, suffered from leukaemia before recovering and being in remission, to then being able to get out more and away from the confinement of the chateau. I was a guy who fell in love with a girl with black hair and brown eyes and looked pretty in roses and daisies…  _ I am _ a guy in love with a girl with black hair and brown eyes who…

“Francis?” Olivia calls out for me. “I’ll go back to my room if you are-Oh, Monsieur Narcisse! Here to prepare our king for his big day?”

“Oui, Lady Olivia,” Narcisse says kindly. “I will take over from here.”

I hear the door close and finish up brushing my teeth and cleaning my face so I look less like a person who has spent the night in a dumpster. I then head to my sitting room, drying my face down.

“It has healed nicely enough for today,” Narcisse says, gesturing to my nose. “Word of advice,  _ never _ choose Army personnel to fight. They throw great right hooks.”

“Good thing kings throw great ones back too,” I reply, both of us smirking a little when he remembers that I was in the Army for three years myself as well as him back when he was my age, straight out of school.

“Your father wishes to see you,” Narcisse tells me, neatly placing my clothes onto the settee. “In private. So we must make you look presentable so that after, you can attend your wedding breakfast.”

The wedding breakfast is an informal dining event just for the bride’s family with the groom’s. My siblings have already voiced their disdain for being present but we must put up a united front to ‘welcome’ Olivia into our family as well as her parents. It’s the last thing I want to do, let alone put a ring on her finger for perpetuity but as King, I must grin and bear it when it comes to things I don’t like doing.

“I will run your bath for you,” Narcisse mutters when I stand there like an idiot. I guess he knows just how much I don’t want to be here.

After bathing and being prepared by my Chamberlains and Narcisse, I make my way to my study where my father waits for me, a drink in his hand. He raises the glass in my honour before gesturing for me to take a seat as the door closes behind me. It’s quite unusual to be welcomed into my own study but I guess old habits die hard for him.

“Father,” I say. “What is it?”

“You’re welcome,” he drawls, simply turning the TV on to reveal ‘Breaking News’ on the News channel. 

The coverage shows videos upon videos along with photographs of Olivia acting foul to people. It’s not even photographs and videos, there are text messages and voice recordings of her saying racial slurs, being homophobic and abusing girls we knew years ago from school, and some I know today in the form of Mary and her friends, behind their backs.

“The D’Amencourts are losing their shits,” Father says, chuckling before sipping his drink. “God, this was sweet.”

“What’s going on?” I demand to know, standing and pointing at the TV. “What is this?!”

Father rolls his eyes. “Your chance, Son. To get it right, the first time.”

“What do you-”

“At first I will admit, you marrying Olivia was very beneficial but after my sources did a little digging into the skeletons in her wardrobe, I was alarmed at how much could be thrown back at us. The racial abuse, for example, we are a family who prides itself in being inclusive of people of all colours and races. The slut-shaming and mocking of young girls who have yet to find their footing in who they are in life, I have five daughters and if Olivia mocked any of them, I’d slap her with a lawsuit. And the homophobia…? You know your cousin, from your Aunt Charlotte, married his husband last year in a civil partnership,” he tells me.

I’m honestly shocked. I never knew my father could be a whistleblower of all things. And he’s let me suffer being in bed with her, knowing all of this information which could have had me in Mary’s arms long since ago?

“Why today?”

“I needed to let the dust settle over the Stuart girl,” he says. “And then she gets herself involved with Sebastian  _ and _ let’s not forget about her future fiancé’s unexpected death. She is a damn walking hazard but if she is who you truly want to be your queen… then go and get her and bloody well keep her because I am tired of playing the villain in your little game with Sebastian.”

I don’t know whether to scowl or kiss my father on the head for being so gracious yet so judgemental at the same time so I leap from my seat and hurry out of the study, hearing his chuckle following me.

_ I’m coming, Mary. I’ll fight for you. _

* * *

“Y-Your Majesty?”

“Mary Stuart-de Guise. Which apartment is hers?” I demand breathlessly as I grip onto the concierge’s desk. “Quickly!”

He blinks in surprise and searches his records before swallowing and meeting my eyes. He bows quickly. “Apartment 10A, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you,” I say, already hurrying off.

“Y-Yes, you’re welcome, Your Majesty!” He stammers but I’m already in the lift, repeatedly pressing the button for the tenth floor.

I’m excited, nauseous and terrified all at the same time. I have my chance. Olivia knows the marriage is already over before it started and now, I can spin things around and marry Mary instead. Just as I wanted all of those years ago. I sincerely want her, I just wanted the best for her because I knew it would be even more impossible for us to be together but now… We’ll be together forever, I’ll make sure of it.

I can’t reach the floor soon enough and when the lift dings, I run down the hallway, looking at letters and finally finding Mary’s at the end of the hall. Composing myself, I knock thrice and smile widely.

The door opens and my smile leaves my face a little when it’s Kenna standing there. From what I remember, she’s a wild one, very flirtatious and a bit vain but overall, a lovely person to converse with and be friends with. No one wants to be on her bad side otherwise she’ll make you feel inferior with one cruel smirk. I shiver.

“Uh,” I drawl, suddenly forgetting her name as the only person I intended on seeing was Mary. “Countess of Ross… K-K-Ken-”

“Kenna,” she says simply, already looking disinterested in our conversation. “Mary’s not here.”

“Isn’t this her ho-”

“Oh, it’s  _ our _ home,” she says, glaring at me slightly. “Your Majesty.”  _ Never forget your courtesies _ , I think lightly.

I smile a little. “Okay, what’s got you in such a mood?” I ask her, discreetly looking into the apartment for any sign of Mary’s whereabouts.

“Nothing,” she snaps. “...Your Majesty.”

“I could have you arrested for being rude to me,” I tease her.

Her face softens and she lets me in. “Don’t worry about it. I saw the big shitstorm on TV.”

“Yes and I’m here for my next steps,” I inform her. “Mary’s hand in marriage. Officially. And then living the rest of our lives in happiness.”

For a second, Kenna looks wounded but then she blinks and gives me a sympathetic glance. “Your Maj-”

“We’re friends,” I remind her kindly. Well, she’s friends with my future wife, hopefully.

“Francis,” she says softly. “Mary went to Rennes…”

“Oh. Do you know where I-”

“To marry Bash,” she says, her voice cracking a little. Then it clicks. 

I sink onto the sofa and let out a soft gasp. She probably hasn’t seen or heard the News, believing I’d actually go through with marrying Olivia. And with her fiancé dead… She’s going for the next best thing for her, my half-brother.

“I’m sorry,” Kenna mumbles, taking a seat across from me on the other sofa. “They told me this morning at five in the morning… I hadn’t even done my morning facial routine until she showed me the ring. She’s happy but I know deep down she’s not as happy with him as she was with you…”

I sniffle, wiping tears that leak from my eyes. “Thank you for telling me,” I mumble.

“You’re not the only one scorned,” Kenna says softly and almost bitterly as she bows her head the moment I turn to face her. “I’ve always loved him… Where you weren’t afraid to tell Mary you loved her, I was a coward and now he’s marrying my best friend and he’ll probably move in here since he’s been living around ever since you kicked him and his mother out of Chenonceau… leaving me packing my bags back to Scotland. Unable to bear looking at them all happy. Or if they kick me out first.”

“I’m sorry, Kenna,” I tell her, receiving a wry smile from her. “I guess I’m too late.”

Kenna shakes her head. “It’s never too late,” she tells me, retrieving her phone. “Your number.”

“I can’t-”

“Your number,” she insists and hands her phone to me so I can tap out my private line. I’ll probably be berated by my Head of Security and Secret Service Director but Kenna’s a scary person to deny anything to, even me, the King of France is pussying out for her shamefully. She’s just one of those people who gets what she wants. At least, most of the time.

“There,” I tell her, handing her the phone back.

She quickly types something and my phone beeps with a new text: [From Unknown: Countess of Ross here, letting you know that your vie is at Le Château D'apigné. Good luck with finding your lost love. K x].

I save her number and hug her. “Thank you,” I tell her before letting go and standing up. It will take me four hours by car to get there and two hours by train. Hell, I will even spend 70 hours walking for her but I decide to be smart and call up Narcisse to get my private jet ready. I can be there in an hour.

Just before I leave, I pass a vase of flowers and lift a purple rose in confusion. I have never seen one before and I look at the small note card that reads: ' _ Thank you for being there for me, Kenna. Love Mary xxx'. _ Turning to face Kenna who is already grabbing a bottle of Scotch from a cabinet, I give her the rose.

“You’ll find your lost love one day. Good day, Countess,” I tell her before I finally leave.

* * *

“Mary!”

Mary freezes and turns, her eyes widening at the sight of me. She shakes her head a little in disbelief as I laugh self-deprecatingly, my shoulders shrugging slightly. “Fr-Francis? I don’t… Wh-What?” She’s in the gardens of the venue, waiting or thinking, I don’t know but she looks amazing and a sight for sore eyes.

I come closer, pulling her into my arms and hugging her tightly. She smells amazing, of Coco Chanel, her favourite ever since her mother spoiled her as a girl with it following an incident ending up with a smashed bottle of it. Mary wears a white dress that reaches her ankles along with white Courts and a white flower-littered headband. Her arms wrap around me cautiously and I feel her tense in my arms.

“Didn’t you hear or see?” I say breathlessly, pulling away slightly.

She looks around, eyes widening even more at the sight of the private jet. “Francis, I don’t understand. Why are you here and not back at Versailles, marrying Olivia?”

I quickly pull my phone out and show her everything, seeing her eyes widen in surprise and yet, not all surprised at all. She gives me a look of doubt and I return it before we both chuckle at Olivia’s predicament.

“She’s gone. Father made sure of that,” I tell her. “And before you ask of Amelie, her father has sent her to marry someone in Hungary.”

Mary covers her mouth in shock, allowing me a better look at the ring Bash gave her. It’s simple and I recognise it as his late grandmother’s ring. Mary must really mean a lot to him if she has got Meme de Poitiers’ ring.

“God, Francis…” Mary breathes out.

“We can get married,” I say, resting my forehead against hers with a wide smile.

“But the scandal-”

“I don’t care. Honestly, everyone has to deal with who my heart truly wants. You,” I tell her. “Please.”

“But Bash…” Mary says softly and sadly, letting go of me. “Francis, I can’t betray him-”

“You betrayed me,” I snap at her before softening up. “No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to ask for your hand in marriage, I am  _ sure _ of  _ us _ .” I even get down on one knee to show her how committed I am to our relationship. It’s been absolute hell without her and I never want to be without her again. “Marie Josephine Stuart-de Guise, will you do me the honour of being my wife?”

I even slip my hand into my pocket and reveal a navy ring box, holding it up to her as she shakily opens it up and gasps loudly. I smile at her reaction, the tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

“Sapphire blue with a gold band,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything when it comes to you,” I tell her. It was just over five years ago when she told me her dream engagement ring and I had it done all this time, waiting for the moment I could take my chance and do things for  _ myself _ .

Her brown eyes look so conflicted and she sighs, pulling me up. “Let’s go somewhere more private. And less cold.”

We are taken to a traditional living area by the estate manager who offers us drinks and food but I reject their kind offer, just wanting to talk to Mary. Old antique chairs and settees around the room with a lovely fireplace that is lit with a warm fire that makes us warm and cosy. We take seats, Mary leaning forward in hers to cover her face up.

“I love you,” she says firstly.

“I love you too,” I say back quickly, a smile gracing my face.

“And I love Bash…”

My smile leaves my face.  _ He loves you too _ . “I’m sorry for doing this... But you’re going to have to choose, Mary, and I pray to God you choose me.”

Mary looks guilty, towards who, I don’t know. “With you, I could be Queen of France and we’ll be happy and together forever, a dream I never thought could be… With Bash, I get to keep my privacy, be normal and start a career in Politics-”

“I can change the Law, allowing you to work as-”

“You and I both know the government will never allow a queen to be involved in Politics. The Royal Family must always stay neutral-”

“We’re young, we can change the damn system,” I tell her. “We can show them a more modern way of thinking, of being royals.  _ Of living _ . Senior royals with everyday jobs, not granted to them because of who they are but because of their skill sets and what they could bring to the table. Royals not relying on public taxpayer money but earning their own wages and being independent. There is so much you can do Mary, as my wife and as France’s Queen. You’ll be an inspiration to everyone, we both will.”

The worry lines in her forehead relax and then she’s looking at something over my shoulder to which I turn to. My jaw sets when I see  _ him _ and he’s not too glad to see me either. Something in him clicks and he nods once before fully entering the room and closing the door behind him. His hands clench at his sides and he directs what he says to Mary. “I’m guessing the wedding’s off?”

She stands nervously, about to reach out and touch him but he flinches and backs away. “Bash, I’m so sorry-”

“Since you were five,” he says quietly. “16 years I could never top.”

I feel awful and in all of my years of knowing Bash, I’ve  _ never _ seen him cry. I want to hug him but I’m still upset deep down and I let my pettiness get the better of me, the fact that  _ I’ve won _ .

“I’m sorry, I hurt you,” Mary whispers softly, cupping his cheek and thumbing a tear away. “I just don’t think you were ever the one for me.” She carefully slips his grandmother’s ring from her finger and places it in his palm before closing it and squeezing it. “Give that to someone who will put you first in their heart. And promise me you’ll put them first in your heart in return.”

“I don’t have to promise you anything,” he mumbles before leaving.

Mary bows her head and I stand up, wrapping my arms around her from behind and kissing her cheek. “It’s for the best,” I tell her. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffles, shaking her head. “Where’s my ring?”

I chuckle softly, tears springing to my eyes when I get back down on one knee and present her with the ring of her dreams. I don’t even have to say anything before she’s saying “yes” and slipping the ring on, our lips connected within moments.

_ I’ve got the love of my life back _ .

* * *

“Where will you go?” Elisabeth asks, taking a drag from her cigarette before blowing it out. It’s an awful habit she started in the hopes of turning Philip off from her but it’s made him even more smitten with her, believing that she is a rebellious soul. Now, she can’t quit the damn thing, grabbing a nicotine patch to stick on her upper arm for later.

“Spain. My mother’s there,” Bash replies.

Margot’s eyes fall and she gets up from her seat to hug him. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been close lately.”

“It’s alright,” Bash says, squeezing her before letting her go to hug Elisabeth. “Thank you for the money. I’ll pay you both back when I’m settled.”

“Don’t,” Leeza tells him.

She heads to her purse and retrieves her card before handing it to him. “Philip gave it to me, for whenever I’m in Spain. Keep it. I can always tell him that I’ve lost it within my vast wardrobe and can’t be arsed to look for it.”

Bash chuckles wryly. “Say ‘goodbye’ to the others for me.”

“I will,” Leeza promises him.

Grabbing her coat, Margot leads him out downstairs through the secret passageways to her car. The day she got her driver’s license, she was over the moon. It was a little bit of freedom that she so craved every day but kept quiet about it. No one needs to know about her wishes to step down from the limelight and be normal. If Francis is forced to do it, she’ll bear it with him in solidarity.

“I’ll get my stuff from Mary’s place before they get back and I’m out of here,” he says as she drives him to the apartment with an indiscreet team of bodyguards following behind. It’s a must for royal security.

“I can’t believe Francis has restricted you from continuing to be in the Army. I knew love was great and all but does it mean hurting your family in the process?” Margot asks, shaking her head a little. “Kicking you out of your home and job just because you happened to fall in love with a girl he couldn’t even be with in the first place.”

“Well, they’re together now,” Bash says. “And I don’t mind. I’ve enjoyed my time in the Army, however, limited it was. And now, I get a chance to start over.”

Margot smiles fondly. “There are some great girls around. I’m sure they don’t have obsessive ex-boyfriends who’d set out to ostracise you.”

“Too soon.”

“Yeah,” Margot says, chuckling with him.

“So, how’s your fiancé?”

“We’re not engaged.”

“You will be in a couple of years.”

Margot scoffs and sighs heavily, rolling her eyes hard. She doesn’t like the guy and he has the same name as their father. “He insists on me calling him ‘Ree’.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed,” she says. “In hopes, I won’t think of Father whenever we…”

Bash stifles a chuckle and she blushes, swatting him before putting her hand back on the steering wheel. It’s funny to think about, having sex with a man who has the same name as your father. It’s better to call him by something else to  _ prevent _ such unfortunate situations and thoughts.

“Glad I made you laugh,” Margot says.

“Don’t worry, little sister, I’ll always be there whenever you need me too.”

Giving him a warm smile, Margot nods and squeezes his shoulder before they continue the drive in silence.

* * *

“It would be in poor taste to marry today,” Mother says warily. “And well, the Archbishop has already left for home, disappointed with the events that unfolded. Never has he seen such… travesty.”

I pace the room slowly. “It’s not false, Mother. That is truly who Olivia is. Compared to Mary, she is no angel.”

“Mary Stuart is no saint, either,” Mother says sharply. “Within the space of two weeks, she has been caught lip-locked with your bastard brother and attending the funeral of who would have been her husband. She brings scandal to the family.”

“Just as Olivia D’Amencourt did,” Father says tiredly. “Cat, we’ve been through this. Just because you like her does not mean the rest of us do, too. And truly, Mary could be beneficial to our family’s image. Her mother is in our government, her uncle as well and the de Guises have actually been a family held in high regard. Not to speak of my connection with her father’s family back in Scotland. Thinking about it now, I’d be honoured to have James Stuart’s only daughter as my own through her union to our son.”

I smile at my father gratefully and that makes Mother bristle slightly. She likes Mary deep down but she has always preferred Olivia because of their connection. And not to forget about the ties France could have with Italy that would have been very beneficial considering we’re a Catholic country and the Vatican City lies within Italy’s walls.

“A September wedding would give us enough time to plan everything properly,” Mother finally says.

I hug her tightly and feel her smile against my neck. “Thank you,” I say.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she says. “We have a lot of work to do.”

They leave soon after and I check the time to see that it’s just gone past seven in the evening. My door opens and I turn and give Mary a wide smile as she closes it behind her and steps into my waiting embrace. She’s dressed in a navy blue dress now matched with a black cardigan, her hair down and straight with simple black ballet flats. Even in her simplest form, she’s the most beautiful woman to me.

“I have a date for you,” I tell her. “To get married.”

She leans back to look at me. “When?”

“September 22nd.”

“Isn’t that too far away?” She asks, laughing nervously. “I’ll marry you tomorrow, Francis.”

I cup her cheeks, pressing a kiss on her nose. “I know,” I tell her. “But we need to do things properly. First, we will let everything die down and give people enough time to forget about the News and then, we’ll announce our intention to marry and plan the wedding of your dreams.”

“ _ Our _ dreams,” she whispers, kissing my palm.

I chuckle. “I know but it’s your day more than it is mine. I want you to be the only shining star that day. We have to plan this properly. Start our marriage off rightly, in Autumn, the season we got together.”

“That does make sense,” Mary says, smiling widely. “I like the sound of that. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” I tell her, kissing her deeply.

She pulls a face and I frown, seeing her eyes lower to the ground. “Francis…”

“What is it?”

She sighs, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan and handing me a letter. “It’s from Bash.”

I hesitantly take the letter from her hand and shift away to open it up and retrieve the sheet of paper. Gone are the days we’d write letters, showing off our penmanship from our lessons at school but then it had become a special thing between us with us genuinely using the letters to talk about anything and everything.

A part of me doesn’t want to read it and I berate myself for being so petty and horrible. It’s the least I could do after kicking him out of his home, his job and now, taking who seemed to be the love of his life away. Whatever the words in this letter said, I owed it to him to read them.

I smooth the letter out and start reading it.

_ ‘Your Majesty, _

_ When you read this, I’ll be gone. Despite everything that has gone on between us, I could never quite disown you. You were my little brother and I loved you. I still do. I miss the days when things were simpler and easier and there wasn’t a crown on your head nor a woman between us but we all made our beds, and we must lie in them. If I told you that I wish I never loved Mary, I’d be lying. The heart wants what it wants and we wanted the same heart who could only choose one when it came to the end of it. Look after Mary, don’t let her tears be of sorrow and pain but joy and happiness as you both step onto this new path in your lives. Always choose each other, regardless of what France needs. She’s worth it. _

_ Sebastien.’ _

“Francis?

That hurts. It hurts a lot and it makes me keel over, taking sharp breaths in as Mary hurries to my side to help me into a chair.

“I need to find him,” I whisper.

“Maybe you should give him some time. A week or something… Then start fixing what you broke,” she suggests.

I look at her, pained. I did break everything, didn’t I? I called him awful things, did awful things and had him unlawfully terminated from the Army, the one place he loved and felt like he mattered. I did that.

He’s always been there for me, I can’t imagine how it must have felt to stick by my side as Mary and I kept our relationship a secret for all of those years. No wonder he left as soon as he could after the Army came knocking. I would too if it got me away from seeing someone I love being with my brother who I equally loved just as much.

It makes me think of Narcisse and Lola and Kenna’s own predicaments. Three souls in love but unable to be with the ones they truly want out of duty or loyalty. If only I could wave a wand and give everyone what they wanted with no one else getting hurt or left aside, I could. I would even silence any talks of scandals and affairs and just let everyone know that we loved who we loved and weren’t ashamed to let them know.

“I’m the worst person in the world,” I say tearfully.

Bringing my head to her chest, Mary laughs softly. “No, you’re just human.”

* * *

_ Tuesday 15th May _

Before I know it, wedding preparations are underway and my mother surprisingly gets along with Marie de Guise as they take over in wedding planning. It is inevitable, their joint stance against everything Mary and I want at  _ our _ wedding but since they were good enough friends back in the day, it made their united front even more annoying. 

“We finally have a say,” Mary announces, entering our bedroom. It’s still technically mine but since we’ve reunited, I’ve not let her out of my sight. “About who attends.”

“Right,” I say, retrieving the list of potential guests from her hand. There are movie stars, singers, French politicians and other people of high status and title. “Did you get the lowdown on who we can’t invite?”

“Foreign politicians and dignitaries but Francis, I do have a Scottish side and you know Greer’s father is an MP…” Mary says, sitting beside me with a heavy sigh. 

I slip her hair behind her ear and smile. “I’m sure one MP won’t set the chapel on fire,” I tell her, making her smile happily. “Who else is on the list?”

“Oh, famous people. People from school, your sisters’ future fiancés and their families…”

“Leeza would love that,” I mumble, making her chuckle. “Philip’s obsessed with her. Hangs onto her every word, what a goner.”

“Says you,” Mary replies with a smirk which receives a quick kiss from me. “Anyway, we’re looking at the 800 mark.”

“800?!” I cry out, being handed another list. “Who said 800?” My wedding to Olivia only had 500.

Mary sighs, rolling her eyes. “Our mothers.”

_ Of course _ . I sign the bottom of the lists to confirm my agreement before Mary kisses my cheek and stands up to leave. Harnessing other thoughts, I pull her back down and take the lists from her to place down as my other hand reaches for the zip of her dress.

“God, you can’t wait until tonight?” She asks, giggling when I attack her neck with kisses. “I’m designing my wedding dress.”

I freeze in my actions, pulling away to look at her. “Your dress?”

“We are getting married in four months, remember? And if I want it to be perfect, it needs to be done,” she replies. “You’re going to love it. I have had to make alterations to fit with French royal customs and… everything’s going to be so special.”

“It is,” I promise her before letting her go with one lingering touch of our fingers.

“He’s just in there.”

I stand from the sofa and see Remy, Leith and Julien come into the room with gifts in their hands. “Gentlemen! When did you get back?” I ask, giving each of them a hug.

“Last night, we wanted to surprise you,” Leith says, handing me the first box. “We come bearing gifts like the Three Wise Men.”

I snort at that. “Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh? Bit early for Christmas.”

Julien chuckles and grins when he sees my reaction to the first gift. A watch. “It’s custom-made. Leith’s wearing his,” he tells me as Leith shows off his new watch. “A symbol of our friendship.” He then opens the next box and Julien opens up the last one, both of them containing the same watches.

“I have way too many watches,” I tell them lightly, putting my new one on as I gently take off the one Mary got for me in return for her engagement ring. It’s a French custom, the bride gets an engagement ring and the groom gets a watch. “It’s nice.”

“Now we have new watches to time how long we spend at each bar as we hop them,” Julien says. “Since we’ve got to go back next week and come back just before your wedding, we decided we might as well have your party now. Do it properly as you marry the  _ right _ girl.”

“Did you guys really not want to throw a Bachelor party for me just because I was marrying Olivia?” I ask, surprised.

Remy winces. “She isn’t the nicest girl in the world. We’re just glad you’re really with Mary now and not hiding her in the shadows.”

“Same,” I say, blushing as I check out my watch. “Right, where to first, lads?”

* * *

_ Saturday 15th September _

As I nurse a glass of Whiskey in one of the drawing rooms, hoping no one would find and disturb my one moment of peace, I hear the doors open and sigh heavily. But when I feel the familiar hands of my future wife, who I will marry in seven days, on my shoulders, I relax.

“You’re so tense,” she mumbles as I pull her left hand down my collarbone to kiss it as my thumb brushes over her ring. “What is it, Francis?”

I shrug, taking another sip of my drink before saying, “I just feel like something is missing.”

That alarms her and she takes a seat beside me, looking around. ”Francis, we’re getting married in seven days, what can we be missing-”

“No, don’t worry, my love,” I say, kissing her cheek. “Nothing like that. Everything is perfect. It’s just… I always thought my whole family would be there to see me get married.”

Mary frowns. “They are all…” Then it dawns on her. “That’s my fault-”

“Mary-”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, rubbing her temples. “If it weren’t for me… I shouldn’t have gone to him that night, led him on, made him believe that we had a chance when you and me… Have you heard from him?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ve tried looking for him but to no avail,” I inform her.

“I didn’t know you were looking for him.”

“I was,” I admit. “Everything has died down on my end so I thought I’d try and extend an olive branch.”

“Now I’m yours?” She asks, brow raised. “Now that he’s no longer a threat because I’ll always choose you?”

I give her a look. “I won’t lie and say I’m not glad you chose me but surely, he’s moved on by now?”

“You can’t just assume,” she tells me softly. “He’s loved me for years. And I doubt he wants us shoving our relationship down his throat when we’ve been plastered on every News channel and station for the past eight months.”

I smile wryly and nod. We have been the topic of discussion with people just finally accepting my marriage to her with the wedding in seven days. Our engagement interview was done two months ago, people wondering why we took so long to announce it but everything was in due time, we had to play it safe. I remembered the cheesy pictures we had taken, arms wrapped around each other and big, bright smiles that could rival the sun’s light. I don’t know if I’d cope having that plastered everywhere if the woman I loved was with another.

I down the rest of my drink and stand up, offering Mary my hand. She takes it and stands, pulling me in for a tight hug as I inhale her scent deeply. My eyes close and we start swaying much to my amusement. There is no music but somehow, we always make some when we’re together. She’s my partner in every way.

“I will help you find Ba-”

“That won’t be necessary.”

We turn towards the doors where my father is waiting. I sigh and take a seat as Mary goes to the bar and grabs two empty glasses to pour Whiskey into them as well as my empty one. She then hands one glass to my father as he takes a seat across from us.

“Father, ever heard of ‘knocking’?” I suggest, slightly annoyed that our moment was cut short as Mary sends me a warning glance.

“Maybe you did make the right decision,” Father says with a smirk as he looks between Mary and me. “Anyway, Sebastian is in France for his uncle, Duke de Poitiers’ funeral.”

“Uncle Constantin? He’s dead?” I ask, surprised. Where Father had lacked in his duties as a father to Bash, his mother’s older brother took the role frequently. I always knew that Diane de Poitiers was from nobility but she had left it willingly to become an actress and she was a very good one at that. Gone are the days Leeza, Margot and I would sneak films into the TV at night behind our parents’ backs. “I’m sure you’ve extended our condolences.”

“I have but…”

“They weren’t accepted,” I finish wryly. “Of course, why would they be? Didn’t I sanction the order to have Diane and her son banished from their home and country subsequently? Although they left the country of their own accord, mind you.” I don’t know why I’m so defensive but it’s a coping mechanism, to shift all blame from my part in why Bash and I don’t talk anymore. Out of all of my siblings, he was the one I was closest to.

“Here’s your chance to fix things,” Mary tells me. “How about going for a ride? It’s not too cold to take the horses out.”

Bash does get along well with horses more than people at times. “Mary,” I start, kissing her quickly. “You’re a genius.”

* * *

_ Sunday 16th September _

Just after Church, I have Bash escorted to the stables of Chenonceau. As I wait for him to arrive, I reacquaint myself with Bash’s horses, Paris and Luna. He’s had them for as long as I can remember, gifts from Meme de Poitiers before she died. They are beautiful rare breeds, Akhal-Teke horses, and I run my hand over Paris’ golden brown coat making him neigh softly in response.

Horses are such beautiful creatures and I smile, feeding Paris as Luna feeds herself. They are tamed animals, independent and sociable enough so I am glad that neither reacts negatively to my presence. The stablehands have only tended them as of late, and I have heard word that the horses find human presence wary. 

“Good boy,” I tell Paris, leading him and Luna out of the stable just in time to see a car pull up and the driver get out. 

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing and opening the passenger door. “The Baron of Poitou.”

Bash steps out and closes the door himself as the driver gets back inside and drives off, leaving me and Bash alone with the horses. Bash doesn’t look too happy to see me with the horses when once he wouldn’t have minded, but I don’t blame him, wordlessly handing him the reins of both of them as some sort of peace offering.

“I think they missed you,” I finally say, watching as the horses rub their noses against him in familiarity as he brushes his hands against their coats. “I’ve fed them. Thought we should go for a ride.” 

I pass him and put my leather riding gloves on, retrieving a helmet from one of the tables on the side. I don’t react when Bash silently sits down on the stool by the table and pulls his riding boots on before retrieving a pair of gloves and a helmet. There are a select few things that get Bash’s mood uplifted and horses are one of them.

“Luna or Paris?” I ask. “Or I could take one of the-”

“Luna is difficult with riders she doesn’t know. Paris will suit you better,” he says, the first thing he has said to me in a long time.

He gets on Luna as gently coerces her towards the woods as I get on Paris. He’s a bit fussy at first but Bash stops and rides over to tame the horse easily. 

“Good boy,” he says before riding Luna away.

The ride is silent and we pass trees upon trees, riding by the riverbank. Chenonceau is one of the prettier chateaux, vast lands full of perfectly manicured lawns and fields as it stands proudly from the depths of the water. I’ve been here a few times, always mesmerized by its beauty.

“What is this?”

I’m snapped out of my thoughts of glorying this place to turn my head over to Bash who doesn’t even look at me as he rides slightly ahead. “What do you mean?”

“You sent for me. Brought me here to the place I grew up in. For what reason?” Bash asks straightforwardly. He’s always been the one to cut to the chase, hating when people beat around the bush.

I sigh. “I’m sorry about Uncle Constantin. How is your mother?”

“Grieving,” Bash says. 

“Where is she?”

“Poitou Estate.”

“Would she… feel a little better in familiar surroundings?” I ask nervously.

Bash stops and I do the same, his green eyes meeting my blues. “Is this a joke?”

I almost roll my eyes at that. “No. It’s not a joke. I mean it.”

“Fran- _ Your Majesty _ , actions have consequences. You can’t just wave a wand and make everything better. It doesn’t work like that,” Bash says tightly.

“I’m not trying to wave any wand. I’m trying to say ‘sorry’.”

Bash rolls his eyes and continues to ride on. “It’s too late. And I find it funny how it’s the week before your fairytale wedding that you’re suddenly willing enough to apologise.”

“I’ll have you know-”

“I don’t need you to show me how much you and Mary love each other,” he cuts me off, actually annoying me at how blunt and dismissive he’s being towards me. “Now that it’s guaranteed that she’s only walking on this Earth for you, you want me back in your life.”

I try to keep up but Paris is interested in the wildflowers around. “I’ve always wanted you in my life, Sebastian. You’re the one who betrayed me-”

“ _ Betrayed you _ ?” Bash asks, laughing in disbelief as he stops to face me again. “You’re so up your own arse, you can’t see black from white. You don’t understand what you put me through. What you did to me  _ and _ my mother and our family.”

“Our family-”

“ _ My _ family,” he says. “Does not have any of you, Valoises, in it.”

I swallow hard, trying not to let it be known how much that hurt me. But it’s true, his feelings are justified after all the things I told him out of spite. I bite my tongue.

“What can I do… To fix things?” I ask softly.

Bash shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe they can’t be fixed.”

“I could have a word with the Army-”

He turns back around and leads Luna off into a gallop, leaving me behind. I try to follow but Paris ignores my commands, frustrating me in the process. 

My phone rings in my pocket and I answer it with a frustrated, “What?”

_ “So, everything  _ is _ going terribly bad… _ , _ ” _ Mary says with a sigh. 

I soften and curse. “Shit, sorry. Hi, Mary… Yes, uh… Things are harder than I expected. He’s gone off on his own and I’m trying to catch up and…” My voice breaks. “I’m an idiot.”

_ “Should I come?” _ She asks and I can already imagine her hurrying to get her things together to run over and sort things out with her magic touch but I know it will make things way worse than they are already.

“I should do this myself. I don’t know how he’ll react if we’re… I love you, Mary.”

_ “I love you too,” _ she whispers back with a wistful sigh.  _ “I just wish I knew what to do to help you.” _

I smile a little at that. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the day with the girls. I’ll see you tonight.”  _ And then we’ll part once more until the wedding _ . “I love you.”

_ “I love you too,” _ Mary replies before we both hang up.

I slip my phone back into my pocket and close it up before managing to coax Paris away from the wildflowers. I’ve probably chosen the wrong time to pick a horse ride because the weather chooses now of all times to start raining heavily and it’s terribly cold, my mind not thinking of wearing warm clothes as my light Polo shirt starts sticking to my body. 

“Come on, Paris!” I cry out, trying to get the horse to move but he’s now stubborn, acting out against me in some sort of rebellious strike or probably annoyed at me for hurting his owner. “I’ve got some nice food for you to eat if you behave…?” 

My efforts are futile and I get down from Paris, stroking his back softly and whispering nice things to him to try and get him to ride me somewhere less wet. It seems to work after five minutes and I get back onto him, starting to ride through the clearing.

I will be honest, I don’t know Chenonceau as well as I should do, and I happen to get lost. There aren’t signs or anything and I know Bash and the staff here have the whole place mapped out in the brains by heart. I’ve only visited on rare occasions, not long enough to know my way around unless guided.

“You don’t happen to know which way to go, do you, Paris?” I ask the horse before mentally slapping myself for talking to a damn animal of all things.

Paris snorts at my request and before I can lightly chastise the horse for his reply, something spooks him and I’m left flinging into the air. My back hits the ground with a thump, releasing a groan out of my lips. But it doesn’t stop there and I terrifyingly realise that I’m caught in the reins and Paris is full-speed galloping.

“Shit.”

Every turn he makes, I’m thumped against trees and fallen large branches, knocking my breath from my lungs each time.

“Paris, st-stop!” I rasp out.

The rain is pouring hard now and I make attempts to untie myself from the reins but Paris is moving at a fast speed that keeps knocking me out of balance as the rain blurs my sight. The taste of blood and dirt fills my mouth and I almost choke, spitting as best as I can to stop everything from clogging my throat. 

It feels like forever when the damn horse finally slows down, seemingly tired as we stop by the riverbank and I quickly untie myself and drag myself to the edge. My hand reaches for my phone and I lay on my back, bringing the device up above me. It’s smashed.

“Fuck.”

“Francis?!”

I turn my head in the direction of the voice. “Over here!” I call out, letting out a sharp wince. I probably have a broken rib. I’m going to walk down a damn aisle with a broken rib on my wedding day. My bride will kill me. “I’m over here!”

I hope he can hear me. I’m not as loud as I think I sound and the rain is pretty much drowning everything out so I can barely hear him. But when I see a blurry figure above me, I mentally send a prayer, closing my eyes in relief.

And I slip into the darkness.

* * *

When I wake up, I find myself in an unfamiliar bed. The fireplace is lit and I’m covered with a duvet and at least two blankets. I sit up and wince, looking down to see my chest wrapped with bandages. I’ve got cuts and bruises everywhere and I probably look like I’ve been in the wars but I’m alive.

I get out of the bed, holding a hand to my side as I head to the window and look outside. The rain has stopped and the sky is darkening so it must be late evening by now. My suspicions are confirmed when I check the clock on the wall, it’s just gone past seven.

“You’re awake.”

I almost jump out of my skin when I turn around and find Bash at the door. “I…”

“I brought you inside, the staff looked after you,” he tells me. “They will bring you something to eat and drink soon enough. I was told to check on you before the doctor arrives.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” I say before I let out a wince.

“From the looks of it, you’ve got two broken ribs,” he informs me. “Paris did a number on you. Don’t worry, he’s been told off and is sulking in his pen.”

I smile a little at that. “Don’t tell him off too hard. Something spooked him.” My brows furrow as I feel a headache coming on. “I think… it was a flash of a camera.”

“A camera?” Bash questions, alarmed. “I’ll have someone check the grounds then.”

I nod and take a seat on the bed. “Thank you.”

He sighs, turning to the fireplace. “What for?” He asks, stoking the fire so it doesn’t die out.

I scoff, giving him a look of disbelief. “You saved my life.”

“I think it would have been treason if I didn’t,” he tells me. “Honestly, I’ve seen worse in Service. Had to help tourniquet an amputated leg of a refugee child.”

I blink in surprise. “Shit.”

“Wasn’t the best moment of my career but he was grateful at least,” Bash says. “Despite both of us unable to communicate with the language barrier. We got there in the end.”

“So you…” I gesture to my chest.

“Nothing difficult. A dog could do it.”

I laugh and he lets out a quirk of his lips before I wince and decide it’s a bad idea with my broken ribs. “Bash, I meant it when I said I want to be on better terms with you. Almost dying-”

“Please, you were far from death.”

“Still… It really puts things into perspective,” I continue. “I love you, you’re my big brother. I feel awful and I said what I said out of spite, I was hurt. After I just felt disgusted with myself for even saying them and putting them out there. Like I can’t take back what you heard, we’ll both remember them and it will hang between us but I want to move forward. And it’s not just because I have Mary or whatever, it’s because no matter what it comes down to, I’ll always have your back. We fight, we makeup, we’re still there for each other. I want things to go back to normal, I want you  _ home _ .”

I can’t see his face since his back is turned towards me so I just hope he’s letting all that I said sink in so he can make a decision. I don’t want there to be more pain between us, I’m tired of fighting.

A knock on the door disturbs us and I tell the person to come inside. It’s one the managers of the household with a doctor who I recognise very well. They both bow and I nod once as the manager leaves and the doctor steps inside.

“Dr Paré, thank you for coming,” I say. “I hope your journey was discreet.”

Ambroise looks at me in understanding. “Your parents do not know,” he confirms, making me release a breath of air. “May I tend to you now or shall I return at a later time?”

“Excuse me,” Bash mumbles as he leaves the room, allowing Ambroise to decide on that.

I gesture for him to prepare his things. “Where do you want me?” I ask.

A while later, Dr Paré leaves, giving me a clean bill of health and some painkillers before telling me that I will be feeling sore for a few weeks as my ribs heal. They aren’t too bad but I’d need my chest to be wrapped up for support. Mary is definitely going to kill me.

My dinner is brought up to me along with an extra meal and I’m surprised to see Bash enter and take a seat across from me at the table. I start eating and he picks up his own fork, the two of us eating in silence as the clock ticks in the background. 

“I love you too.”

My eyes widen and I drop my fork in surprise. “Are we having a moment?” I ask lightly, a smile growing on my face.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I guess a man really needs to almost die to strengthen those broken bonds-”

“You’re such a baby,” Bash breathes out in exasperation as I chuckle and continue to eat. “Oh, your phone is totalled, by the way.”

I close my eyes, knowing how many times Mary would be calling to try and reach me. “I know it is.”

* * *

_ Saturday 22nd September  _

Today is the day.

Despite the joy and excitement that I feel today, I feel so nervous and there is an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t want anything to go wrong, I have waited for this my whole life. Even my coronation morning is easier than this morning.

“Your breakfast, Your Majesty,” my Head Chamberlain, Harold, announces.

“I feel sick,” I mumble.

“Would toast and tea settle for you?” Felix asks as he opens up my curtains, letting the bright sunlight in. “Your bride has requested that we prepare ten different kinds of fruit for you. You love kiwis, don’t you?”

I raise my brows.  _ Seriously, Mary _ ? I despise them but let a smile grow on my face. “Go on then,” I say, sitting up and accepting the tray of food from Harold. “How is my bride?”

“She is at the Queen’s State Apartments, getting ready with her ladies,” Felix informs me. “Lord Narcisse is making sure everything is well with her party.”

I nod at that and pick at the kiwi before me. “Did she like my gift?”

“Lord Narcisse will know about that,” Harold says. “Right, after you have finished your breakfast, the wedding breakfast will commence at ten.”

I wince, I forgot about the wedding breakfast. It’s more or less an event where everyone brushes elbows and mixes with the elite. Only a select few of the 800 guests are attending from my family to Mary’s family amongst some that fit the 200 guest scale. 

I’m only eating now since I will not be able to have a bite at the breakfast party due to the number of people I’d have to greet and speak to. Mary and I will make our rounds separately, we’re not allowed to see each other until it’s time. It’s quite a horrid thing, I’m missing her terribly after days apart.

“What colour has my mother chosen today?” I ask. Throughout the week, my mother has been choosing my clothes. Different shades of blue to signify Franco-Scots relations and she’s even invited Scottish dignitaries to attend the wedding as well as other notable Scottish people from actors to singers.  _ Inclusivity. _

“Tiffany blue, Sir,” Harold says, presenting my suit and tie as Felix holds up my polished new shoes.

I let out a frustrated groan. “I’ll look horrible,” I say.

Harold smirks, presenting me with another suit. “And that is why we’re here. To read your mind.” 

I grin. The suit is a darker shade than my eyes so it will make them stand out. The shoes are the same black brogues from the other suit. It’s way better than the Tiffany blue get up my mother insists on putting me in. 

“Give me five minutes to finish this,” I say. “Start my bath.”

They nod and head to the bathroom as I continue to eat my breakfast. I make sure to finish all of the fruits in case Mary finds out and berates me. She’s already a nagging wife and it surprises me to say that I enjoy it. I also make sure to eat the morsels of toast and drink my tea.

After that, I don’t feel so nauseated nor nervous as I get out of bed and head to the bathroom to get ready. It’s a quick affair, I’m finished within the hour, just in time for breakfast and I meet Bash, Leith, Julien and Remy outside of my rooms.

“Gentlemen,” I say, greeting them with quick hugs before we start making our way downstairs for the breakfast party. 

Narcisse joins us along the way saying, ”She adored your present. A little bird told me you asked. The Marchioness told me to extend her thanks and that you should await your gift after your breakfast rounds.”

“Thank you,” I tell him before he bows and leaves.

The Marshal, upon seeing us, opens the door to the dining hall. “His Majesty, King Francois IV…” I drown out his voice as he introduces us, my eyes searching for any recognisable faces.

Mary’s mother is not here, but I suspected she would be with Mary helping get her ready but her uncle is here and he’s the first person we go to, much to my parents’ surprise. General Christian de Guise bows low when he sees me and I extend a hand to shake his.

“Your Majesty-”

“Please, we’re almost family,” I tell him. “It’s ‘sir’ to you.”

He laughs and I join in. I’m only joking and he takes that well as he says, “A king as my nephew-in-law. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well, anything is possible these days,” I reply. “I hope you’re enjoying the company?”

He nods once. “Even politicians bore each other,” he says. “I’ve met a few of your extended family members. We are all happy that you and Mary are finally getting married. After all of last year’s events and…” He quickly glances at Bash who looks away. “Romance isn’t dead, after all.”

“Yes,” I say, struggling to find words. “Well, thank you very much and when Mary and I return from our honeymoon, I will await our weekly briefings to talk the Military strategies through.”

“I will too,” he says, bowing before we leave him.

I spend thirty minutes greeting family members and meeting future ones as well as reacquainting myself with my friends’ parents. By the time I reach my parents, they are already shooing me out of the hall in time for Mary to make her rounds.

“This is too stressful,” Leith mutters as we exit the hall, the doors closing behind us as the other sides’ open for Mary and her friends to enter. I wish I had just two seconds to see her.

“It must be done,” Julien replies as we head upstairs to get changed in our wedding outfits. As we walk by, two dogs run past and they send Julien yelping. “What the bloody hell are those?!”

I whistle, the dogs stopping and turning to run back to me. I bend down and lift the puppy into my arms, my hand stroking the older dog’s head. “These are Stirling and Nora, Mary’s beloved dogs. Nora is my wedding gift to her.”

“Scared of dogs?” Remy tuts at his brother, playing with Stirling a little. “Good boy!”

“They poop a lot and ruin things.”

I hear Bash scoff and say, “I pity your future children.” That makes us all laugh as Julien scowls and I put down Nora and call over a guard. 

“Take them back to the Queen’s State Apartments and make sure they stay there. Nora’s not potty trained,” I tell him, all of us wincing when a poor maid steps into dog poo down the hall.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, lifting Nora into his arm as he grabs Stirling’s leash.

I turn, continuing the journey back to my rooms before I bid the men a brief farewell, all of us disappearing behind our room doors. My outfit is waiting for me on a mannequin and Felix starts stripping it off as Harold prepares to take my current clothes.

I’m wearing my formal military outfit with my honours and blue sash. I decided against my royal cloak, having one done with Mary’s Clan crest intermixed with the Valois-Angoulême seal and crest for Mary to wear after our wedding service so she can be crowned queen today. 

My outfit is completed with white slacks and a white hat with a shiny black rim and French crest embedded on it. It’s all quite regal and when I am finished dressing, I take a look of myself in the mirror. I look older than I am.

“Finishing touch,” Felix says, handing me a gift box.

I open it up and smile, lifting the pin from of the box. It’s a fleur de lis entwined with a daisy flower. The French royal flower and the first-ever flower I gave my future wife. “Can you put it on, please?”

Felix nods and pins it onto my sash, straightening it out. “You look wonderful, Sir.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Both of you. You have both been absolute saints today and all days. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

They both bow and leave me to my peace after I instruct them to let my party in when they are finished dressing. I don’t wait long and I turn to see the boys in their own formal military wear, shining shoes and matching watches and hats.

“Wow, you scrub up nicely,” Leith says, coming to circle me. “Are those new?”

I snort, slapping his shoulder. “I feel sick again.”

Julien looks around and finds a vase, chucking the flowers over his shoulder and handing me the long glass item. “There.”

“Jules!” I cry out, rejecting it.

“What? You said you felt sick,” he says, shrugging as he retrieves a lighter and pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket.

I chuckle and my eyes land on Bash. “Well?”

Bash looks around before pointing at himself. “You want  _ my _ opinion?”

“Yes,” I say with a tut. “What do you think?”

He smiles a little. “You look great. Mary’s a lucky woman.”

I swallow hard. “Gentlemen, do you mind if I spoke-” I am cut off by my friends leaving promptly, Bash and I remaining in the room. When the door clicks shut, I sigh. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you.”

Bash shrugs. “It’s better not to think too hard about it.”

“Promise me you’ll find someone,” I tell him. “I know you told Mary that you didn’t owe her that promise but owe me instead.”

“Francis…” Bash tries but he shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

I clear my throat. “I owe you a big one,” I say. “For Sunday.”

“You really don’t, Fran-”

“I hereby declare you, ‘Duc d'Orléans’, resident of Château de Blois,” I say. “There. You can’t reject it, it’s spoken into the air so it’s official.”

Bash laughs in disbelief. “You can’t just-”

“I have.”

“Fran-”

“I’m not listening,” I sing, blocking my ears.

He glares at me and I return it. “Take it back.”

“No, Your Grace,” I say, making him gag. “Wow, does it really repulse you?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Father never gave me any titles. Uncle Constantin gave me ‘baron’ since he was in ill terms with my cousin, John. He did it out of spite although now that title’s been rescinded since the prick is the new Duke of Poitou… I don’t need a title to be happy or find a wife, Francis.”

I shake my head. “Of course not. But it’s a reward that in all honesty, has been a long time coming. Let’s agree that Father isn’t the best of fathers in the world and he did treat you like you were a passing whim but you’re worth more than that. Your mother can have Chenonceau and you can be reinstated in the Army and have Château de Blois. It’s my wedding day, I’m feeling gracious so just accept it, will you? I am not taking it back.”

“Fine,” he says with a sigh.

“Good. When I return, I will formalise it. But you are free to enjoy your new home,” I say. “And it has a twenty-horse stable so I’m sure Luna and Paris will be happy to have new friends.”

Bowing, Bash nods. “Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Now, it’s time for me to get married...”

* * *

At half-past 11, Mary and I have our First Look. It’s to abolish all nerves and fears and worries of the day, the time we see each other for the first time in ages. Mary’s taking her sweet time, behind the doors, and I see Narcisse smirk in amusement at my lack of patience.

Finally, I am told to turn away from the door and I hear them open soon after. Heels click against the marble floor and I hear a lot of movement, probably from the train of Mary’s dress. She said it is a surprise.

“Can I turn around now?” I ask, smiling widely.

“No,” Mary whispers, humour in her tone as I hear her steps get closer. She wraps her arms around my waist and inhales my scent deeply. “You smell... ravishing.”

“So do you,” I say, transfixed in the only sense I’m allowed to have right now regarding her outfit. Her touch is light and her breaths are quiet. I need to feel and see.

“I’m wearing over forty pounds of dress,” she informs me, giggling.

“Christ,” I mumble. “May I turn around now?”

“Oui,” she says and turns me herself, my eyes widening at the sight of her as she steps back, her ladies moving back with her train as well.

Tears spring to my eyes as I take her in. She’s wearing a stunning ball gown-like dress, a plunging deep ‘V’ exposing some of the curves of her bust to a moderate amount. Her arms are covered with sheer lace with embroidered flowers and small Swarovski diamonds. I look at her face, her raven locks wavier than usual with Marie-Antoinette’s tiara on top of her hair, joined with a very long and slightly aged veil. She turns a little to show me her exposed back with pearl buttons leading down from the centre of her back to her waistline, just before the large skirt begins.

“Mon Dieu,” I breathe out, giving her a watery smile. “You look… so beautiful, Mary. I don’t know what I did to deserve you becoming my wife today. I don’t know what I did to have a woman like you…”

Mary’s smile widens as she thumbs my tears away. “I didn’t know you’d get all emotional on me,” she laughs.

“I apologise-”

“Never,” she whispers happily. “You look so handsome. So like a king  _ and _ a man.”

I sniffle and laugh softly, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies, hugging me tightly and closing her eyes as I do the same, basking in her presence. We don’t have long but we’ll take it. Today is our day and we will do whatever we wish for however long we want to.

Soon after, we part for only a few metres as I am adorned with a gold and diamond-covered habit by the Order of the Holy Spirit as she is provided with her own wedding habit in the colours of gold and maroon. I accept my crown, all the while keeping my eyes fixated on Mary as she too stares back lovingly, a smile playing on her face.

We are then led to the chapel for the private prayer session with our families following behind us in some special order, the princes of the blood following right behind us with our parents and then our sisters behind them before Mary’s family with our friends and Bash remaining outside the chapel. 

The prayer session is very private and sacred, only members of the royal family and the bride’s family are allowed to attend and witness. After the prayer session, Mary will have to leave to be walked down the aisle again by her half-brother, the Duke of Moray, James Erskine-Stuart. For now, we reach the Archbishop of Reims, who crowned me, who gestures for us to kneel before the altar on Prie-Dieus. 

He prays over us and performs the prayer ceremony as my parents and siblings and Mary’s own selected three family members surround us on their own Prei-Dieus. Soon, the Archbishop presents us with four rings. One thin gold band and another slightly thicker one. The thicker ring is Mary’s for the public ceremony as the third ring is Mary’s coronation ring for the public ceremony too with the last gold band being mine for the public ceremony as well.

“Place the ring on Marie’s finger and repeat after me…”

I shakily place the thinnest ring onto my bride’s delicate ring finger, just above her engagement ring. I don’t realise I’m crying until Mary wipes my cheek and gives me a wide smile which sets our family members aweing at the gesture. 

Soon after, more prayers are said before we arise to sign our wedding registers. I sign my regal scribble under my name,  _ François IV Simon Léon Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici _ as Mary signs her neat signature under her own name,  _ Marie Joséphine Rebecca Stuart-de Guise _ . Then, the Archbishop says more prayers as we kneel once more before he uses Holy Water to form the cross signs on our foreheads. Once that is completed, he nods at the confirmation and asks us to rise as our families applaud the complete affair. 

Before Mary leaves, she is called to rescind her title as ‘Marchioness of Moray’ and I see her brother watch with tears in his eyes as she gives her father’s title up to become Queen of France officially. When that is done, she hugs James tightly before he shakes my hand and asks me to promise him that I will take care of her.

“I promise,” I tell him, nodding firmly once before Mary leaves so the rest of the guests can arrive as well as our friends and Bash.

Getting through our official vows and personal ones was hard because we couldn’t stop crying. The Archbishop is a patient man but I could tell at times that he was a little frustrated. We said our vows in French as the rest of the ceremony and Mary’s coronation is done in Latin by the Archbishop before he finally announces, “Le Roi et la Reine de France.”

Everyone stands, applauding as I keep my eyes trained on Mary’s bright features. We both can’t stop smiling like idiots.

“Vous pouvez embrasser la marée,” the Archbishop says and I do not waste any time in pressing my lips against Mary’s. To me, it felt like forever but I know it is only a ten-second kiss before we turn to everyone who applauds even louder, cheeks flushed. The Archbishop finishes everything nicely with another prayer before Mary and I head down the aisle, seeing the number of people behind the gates, cheering us on and taking photographs of us.

We bask in the celebrations, finding each other’s gaze before waving politely and Mary blowing kisses. Then, I gently nudge my nose against her cheek, her head turning to mine as I brush my lips over hers for the public to drink in. We feel rice being thrown onto us and laugh, looking up to see what was once cloudy, rainy weather, being cleared for the sun to come out.

It truly is a special day.

The wedding celebrations go on forever, it seems. Usually, weddings in France do not end until five or seven the next morning and Mary and I spend every single second of our wedding in absolute joy and bliss. We have had at least five dances, I’ve had two with my mother and Mary has danced with her uncle and brother once each. We drink, we eat, we laugh and cry during speeches. I just can’t wait for when Mary and I finally have some time to ourselves to end the event with a bang.

“To my son, the king of our good country, and his blushing bride, the new Queen of France,” my father says, raising his champagne flute our way as everyone toasts us. 

The room erupts back into chatter and I press a quick kiss on Mary’s cheek, making her smile widely as she squeezes my hand under the table. Her eyes lower down to my new pin and she gives me a coy wink.

“Looks like you loved my present,” she says.

“I do,” I reply, thumbing the pin. “It’s  _ very _ manly.”

She giggles, nuzzling her nose against my neck. We’re quite inebriated but no one seems to mind our little public display of affection as they are under the influence as well. I’m just relieved the reception isn’t being televised but some parts are being filmed for memory’s sake so, in ten-years time when we celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary, Mary and I can watch back on today.

“I love you,” Mary says, staring intently into my eyes. “You’ve made me the happiest woman on Earth… I can’t wait to take you upstairs and-”

“Jesus, you can’t wait until we are all out of earshot?” Margot asks, walking by and placing a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Filthy, the both of you.”

I chuckle and reach behind my back to take Margot’s other hand. “Thank you.”

She smiles widely before kissing our cheeks. “Stay happy,” she says quietly, just for us before walking off and I hear her mention something about Bash sneaking out.

Turning around, I see Bash slip out of the room, leaving Margot baffled. She shakes it off and continues on to find her seat with my other sisters as I get up to leave the room for a breather. I don’t realise Mary’s with me until I feel her hand grip onto mine as we leave the room, the door closing behind us.

“Where are you off to? The party hasn’t ended,” I call out, seeing Bash stop dead in his tracks. 

He turns and sighs. “I’m not feeling too well,” he says, his eyes landing on mine and Mary’s entwined fingers. “I thought I’d catch an early night.”

“It’s only seven in the evening,” Mary states.

“I have a two-hour ride ahead of me,” Bash replies.

“We could lend you a jet,” I say, already turning to go back inside with Mary. But we’re stopped by our father coming out of the room, a grin on his face and I can already tell that whatever he has to say will make this whole thing go even more awkward or south than it is already.

Father takes one glance at mine and Mary’s joined hands and looks over at Bash. “I heard the news.”

“What news?” I ask.

“The whole giving Sebastian a title news,” Father replies, stepping between us. “So, I took it upon myself to solidify that by speaking to a few people and coming to a conclusion.”

Mary raises a brow. “And what conclusion is this, Your Royal Majesty?” She asks, just as intrigued as Bash and I are.

“What would be a great thing to end a wedding?” Father asks. When we stay silent, he tuts and rolls his eyes before saying, “An announcement of another!”

I frown. “I did not sanction any wedding plans. Leeza’s not marrying Philip for another year and Margot has decided to delay her own engagement plans-”

“No, not your sisters’ weddings, Francis,” Father starts. “Sebastian’s wedding.”

“Pardon me?” Bash asks.

“What on Earth do you mean?” Mary asks my father, just as shocked as the rest of us. “Bash isn’t getting married.”

Letting go of Mary’s hand, I rub my temples. “What did you do, Father?”

“What you should have had the balls to do months ago,” he says, clicking his fingers as one of the butlers that are passing by stops. “Get me a drink. Make it strong and surprise me.” He bows and promptly leaves as I start to pace.

“You can’t just do things like this without my permission,” I snap at him. My relationship with Bash is already on thin ice, anything could just be the tip of the iceberg and damn everything to hell. “I thought you didn’t want the duties of a king. Sanctioning and arranging marriages is one of the duties you gave up when I still needed a regent’s role.”

Father rolls his eyes. “I still have the duties of a king. Sebastian is not a royal, I am his father. I have a right as the head of his family to arrange any marriage for him as I see fit. If he had been 25, that would have been a different matter but read the lawbook, Francis. As the offspring of a king, former or current, the most senior position in the household must take matters of marital events on hand.”

“And who, pray to tell, am I supposed to marry?” Bash asks through gritted teeth.

“The Countess of Ross. The Queen is quite familiar with her, aren’t you?” Father says and my eyes widen in shock.

“M-My cousin?” Mary asks quietly. “But, uh, she’s Scottish and… well, my cousin.”

“We have shown the world that Scotswomen can marry into French royalty and she’s a wonderful choice. Witty, smart, cunning, charming…” Father trails off thoughtfully. “She’ll be a perfect match for Sebastian’s good traits.”

I see Mary share an apologetic glance with Bash and I look away. I feel sorry for both of them - Bash and Kenna. Bash obviously still has something for Mary, and Kenna’s going to be damned into a relationship of unrequited love. I had hoped to end the cycle of broken hearts but my father is insistent in ruining things for everyone again, knowingly or not.

“Didn’t you sleep with her?” Bash scoffs and I almost choke at that, turning to glare at my father.

He lets out a chuckle and accepts his drink from the poor butler who bows once more and scuttles away. He takes one sip and then says, “I wish. No, that is a joke, a poor one. I love Catherine and all of that and my heart is committed to her in every way… Whatever rumours you heard about the Countess and me are false. Her father would have my head, former king or not.”

“But you have flirted,” Bash states.

“Flirting isn’t sex, Sebastian. You know that,” Henry replies dismissively. “We will announce it when the night is almost over. Congratulations on your new engagement, I’ll be sure to let your bride know shortly.”

He leaves the three of us alone in the hallway and I turn to Bash, unable to formulate anything of substance to say that will make what just happened either make sense or better. I only sigh heavily and walk over to Mary, pressing a soft kiss on the side of her head as she lets everything sink in. I don’t look but I know she’s having a silent conversation with Bash from the way their eyes don’t leave each other. I let any sense of jealousy remain unknown, she’s wearing a wedding ring that I gave her to signify our new marriage which we’ll consummate in due time.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Mary asks softly.

“Once it’s spoken into the air by authority… it can’t be taken back,” I mumble. “I’m sorry, Bash.”

Bash doesn’t say anything. He merely bows and spins on his heel, walking away. I don’t bother telling him to return because he must truly need some time away from us now. His happiness has truly vanished into thin air and I can’t do anything about it.

* * *

_ Saturday 5th January 2013 _

I knock on the door three times and enter soon after. I find Bash nursing a glass of something as he looks out the window. It’s a bit too early for a drink but I grab my own glass and pour myself some Cognac. 

“To marriage,” I mumble, sipping from my drink as he looks away from the window. “Are you ready?”

Bash snorts loudly, downing the rest of his drink and coming over to refill it. “For what? This abomination of a wedding?” He asks, pulling a face. “I’d rather bury myself alive in the middle of the Sahara desert.”

I take another sip of my drink as I sit down. “It’s not the worst thing in the world. Marriage.”

“Yes,” he agrees and then adds, “If it’s to the right person. I barely know the woman, let alone her name or her titles or whatever else.”

I bow my head at that, looking into my drink. “Kenna’s nice. Thinking about it, you’ll make a splendid pair.”

“You agree with Henry’s choice now?” Bash asks, his eyes darkening. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am!” I insist. “But what is done is done and we can’t do anything about it. It’s not ideal but here we are.” I place my glass down on the coffee table and retrieve something from my pocket. “Here.”

Warily, Bash takes the item from my hand and studies it. “It’s… Pepe’s compass. He left it for you.”

“Yes, but I want you to have it today,” I tell him. “Do you know he and Meme had an arranged marriage as well?”

Bash sighs. “I wouldn’t call this marriage  _ arranged _ . More ‘forced’.”

“Either way, they both came into their marriage open-minded and open-hearted. Do the same,” I say to him. “Kenna just might surprise you.”

Bash shakes his head. “I can hardly stand her. After you and Mary went off for your honeymoon, she came to stay at Blois for a week. She’s full of herself, doesn’t know when to shut up and… I’m pretty sure she’s slept with half the stablehands.”

“I never pegged you down for listening to rumours,” I tease him. “And I strongly doubt that she’s slept with  _ half _ of them.  _ Most _ at least.” I laugh at the way his face glowers and tut at his reaction soon after. “If you and Kenna spent time actually  _ trying _ to get to know each other instead of pulling facades, then you might just be surprised. And you kind of have to consummate this marriage as you have a dukedom, so it will be nice if you were on better terms to make things easier for you both.”

Bash doesn’t say anything to that. He merely pulls out a lighter and grabs a cigarette from a packet in his trouser pocket. He lights it up and takes a long drag from it, his eyes closing as he blows out the puff of smoke.

“That’s bad for you,” I say lightly.

“Kenna was saying that. But I then proceeded to light up a big, fat cigar in her face so more fool her,” he replies, heading back to the window. “I would have preferred a Summer wedding. Shit’s too cold outside and I can’t go for a ride because the horses will freeze up.”

Standing up, I walk over to him and take the cigarette from his fingers, putting it out. I then place my hands on his shoulders and give him a look. “You’re not dying, Bash. It’s quite the opposite. Today is the first day of your life and I  _ promise _ you will be just fine.”

His shoulders sag and he leaves my grip, grabbing his suit blazer from the chair and putting it on. 

“Ready?” I ask him, seeing that it’s close to the time the service is meant to start.

“Sure,” he mumbles, heading out first.

The wedding ceremony goes by in a blur. It’s not as grand or big or as spectacular as mine and Mary’s wedding was but it still has nice features and decorations. A lot of the traditional royal ceremonies are omitted and the only people attending the event are my family, Bash’s mother and Kenna’s immediate family. It was too short notice for some people.

I find myself pulling faces throughout the day. The first time I did was when Bash paused in his vows, his bride’s face falling before she ended up being in a dark, quiet mood for the rest of the day. The second time was during their first dance as man and wife and poor Kenna’s foot got trampled on because Bash had forgotten his dancing lessons from our school days. The third time came when Mary and I were invited up for a speech and everyone could feel the tension because we all knew what transpired between Bash and Mary last year. I didn’t miss the empathetic glances my wife sent Bash too. The fourth time I pulled a face was when Mother and Diane almost got into a severe argument before Diane decided to leave, making a big scene of saying farewell to Bash before she left. The whole day was horrible and I felt awful for the newlyweds for having to go through it.

By ten at night, the party seemed to not be slowing down since the arrival of my flamboyant Aunt Charlotte. She had been indisposed when I married Mary and now, as her favourite nephew, she decided to visit to attend Bash’s wedding and happen to greet me, her second favourite nephew too.

“This is a damn wedding, not a funeral,” she states, downing her champagne and pulling another from a passing tray. “I thought we Valoises knew how to  _ party _ ?”

“You missed it,” Claude tells her. “We partied until seven in the morning for Francis and Mary’s wedding.”

Aunt Charlotte cups my cheek. “Good boy. I knew you young ones still had some life in you!” She cries out before stumbling away drunkenly to dance or whatever. On her way, she bumps into Bash and places a sloppy red-stained kiss on his cheek, making me and my sisters laugh at his distress at being manhandled by our aunt so unexpectedly. She then helps him dab it off and chucks her handkerchief at Kenna’s way so she can finish the job as Aunt Charlotte goes off again. She’s such a character.

“For God’s sake,” I hear Kenna snap and the next thing I know, she’s storming out of the ballroom.

Looking around for Mary, I find her speaking to my mother so I take it upon myself to follow after Kenna. I find her heading outside and job to catch up with her. When I do, I open the door and she steps out, inhaling the cold air deeply before releasing it.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I was just helping him,” she mutters darkly. “He said he didn’t need ‘another mother’.”

“He’s just annoyed over what happened between Diane and my mother,” I inform her.

Kenna scoffs. “This is like meeting your childhood hero. They’re such pricks in real life. I don’t know what I see in him.” She’s shivering and I take my suit jacket off and place it over her shoulders. “Thank you.”

I sigh, stuffing my hands into my pockets to get some heat into them. “He’ll come around. See how great you are for him.”

She laughs bitterly and I’m almost afraid I’ve broken her when it becomes hysterical. Then she sighs wistfully and wipes her tears. “No,” she finally says. “Men like him… They only have one love of their life. His own will always be Mary. I don’t compare to her, I  _ can’t _ compare to her. I can only hope he does his duty to me as my husband and protects my interest as I protect his own in return. Nothing can ruin the sacred image of the Royal Family.”

“Perhaps when you’re holding your child in your arms… Bash will see how much you add value into his life,” I tell her quietly.

Kenna sighs heavily. “I doubt we’ll have children,” she replies sadly. “If Mary’s not the mother, he’s never going to be a father. I’ll just have to live with that.” She smiles at me. “I don’t look like I’ve been crying, do I? I put on waterproof mascara just for this reason.”

“You look fine,” I assure her.

“Good,” she says, smoothing down her dress. “Time to get drunk and salvage the rest of this monstrosity of a night.” She turns and hurries into the chateau. I follow after and she stops by the doors to the ballroom, taking my jacket off and holding it out towards me. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Reaching for my jacket, I tell her, “You’ll find your lost love one day, Kenna.”

She blinks back tears, perhaps remembering the day I got Mary back and we broke Bash’s heart. Then she straightens her back and curtseys before entering the ballroom, ignoring Bash and heading straight to her father for a dance. I see Bash’s brows raise and chuckle to myself. He’s in for a lot of work with that one.

I look around for Mary and jump when I feel someone’s hands wrap around my waist.  _ I’m in a lot of work with this one _ , I think lightly, rubbing Mary’s hand. “I had to comfort her,” I explain. Honesty is always the best policy between us.

“And is she better?” Mary asks, her eyes following Kenna’s every move.

“I hope so.”

“I need to tell you something…” She trails off, leading me back out of the ballroom and down the hall, away from earshot. She takes my hands in hers before placing them on her stomach, making me gasp.

I let out a smile. “You’re not…?”

“I’m fifteen weeks pregnant, Francis,” Mary whispers, a grin breaking out on her face before I lift her and spin her. She squeals and laughs and when I put her back down, our lips meet for a deep kiss.

“I love you, you wonderful woman,” I whisper against her lips.

“I love you too, you great man,” she breathes back before we kiss again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter’s major characters’ details (in order of ‘screen time’) (French-stylisation):  
> ~François (Francis) IV Simon Léon Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 6th October 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: His Majesty, King of France & The Son of France  
> ~Marie Joséphine Rebecca Stuart-de Guise-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 15th December 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Majesty, Queen of France & The Daughter of France  
> ~Sébastien Laurent Daniel Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 29th July 1989. Age (by the end of the chapter): 23. Titles: Former Baron of Poitou, new His Grace, Sebastian Valois-Angoulême, Duc d'Orléans  
> ~Henri VI Christophe Pierre Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 31st March 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 46. Titles: His Royal Majesty, King Father, Henri Valois  
> ~Mckenna Marie Rachel Ross Beaton-Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 5th November 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Former Countess of Ross (Scotland), new Her Grace, Mckenna Beaton, Duchesse d’Orléans  
> ~Élisabeth Isabella Catherine Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 21. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Elisabeth, Duchesse d’Brittany  
> ~Marguerite Michelle Valentina Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 21. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, Duchesse d’Berry
> 
> (I won’t bother with Olivia because I’m glad she’s gone, haha.)
> 
> Francis and Mary got married on Saturday 22nd September 2012 and Kenna and Bash got married on Saturday 5th January 2013. I think I read somewhere that back in the 1800s, French marriages normally took place on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays so I wanted to incorporate this little factbit from: https://www.geriwalton.com/marriage-etiquette-france-late-1800s/ which is a really sweet fact file about weddings and engagement back then. I’d imagine some customs would be used for these two weddings in this chapter. 
> 
> King Louis XVI & Marie-Antoinette’s Marriage (I also used this as inspiration for writing Francis and Mary’s royal wedding in my FF story, Life At Fontainebleau since it is the only source of royal French marriages in France):  
> http://en.chateauversailles.fr/discover/history/key-dates/marriage-dauphin-louis-and-marie-antoinette


	3. Babies, Love and Resets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary’s pregnancy raises some questions from the government and family members. Charles’s love life improves with the help of his family. Leeza sees Philip in a new light and wonders if marriage to him might not be the worst thing in the world. Margot flirts up a storm with a new friend. Bash and Kenna work on their newfound marriage. The Valois children bond with Henry with some strained moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter. I’m sure you can imagine because it has taken months to write, haha. In this chapter, we follow Mary’s pregnancy a bit and multiple other characters. Hope you enjoy it! We still have a lot to see in the year 2013 but it was getting so long, I decided to omit the rest and save it for the following chapter.

_ Monday 14th January 2013 _

“It is with great joy that my wife, the Queen, and I are expecting our first child in the Summer,” I start. “She is currently sixteen weeks gone and although she wishes she was here to make the announcement with me, her doctor has advised her to rest due to her morning sickness, but she and the baby are both healthy. The Royal Family and everyone at Chateau de Fontainebleau is overjoyed at the prospect of a baby within the walls very soon. Thank you and I will now be taking questions.”

I nod over to a gentleman in a blue suit who asks, “Is it true that the Queen’s mother, Marie de Guise is running for Prime Minister?”

“The Crown cannot answer questions regarding political or government situations,” I reply. “Any other questions?” I point over to a woman.

“We heard that your former fiancée, Lady Olivia, is getting married to your cousin, Antoine Bourbon. What are your thoughts on that?” She asks me.

I raise my brows slightly. “That is news to me,” I say. “If it is true, then I wish them all the best.”  _ Keep it classy and sweet. _ “One more question, please.”

Another smartly-dressed man raises his hand and when I nod, he says, “What happens if yours and the Queen’s new arrival is a girl? Currently, the line of succession favours male heirs. Will you try for a son if such a scenario happens?”

France has never had a Queen Regnant and I have never even considered the thought of mine and Mary’s baby being a daughter. We would be elated, of course, but this man is right. The current line of succession favours boys over girls and our daughter could, despite being of royal birth, be pushed back in the line of importance should she have a little brother. And what is to say, Mary and I never have sons? The thought scares me because I’d love to be somewhat like my parents, surrounded by both sons and daughters, ready to teach both genders about life and read them to bed and play with them alike. The best of both worlds.

I decide to screw protocol and say, “Should the Queen give birth to a daughter, she  _ will _ be the Dauphine of Viennois and Duchess of Anjou.” My eyes slightly widen at what my mind isn’t processing as my mouth speaks. “Yes, she will be Queen of France one day.”

That erupts a whole new wave of chatter and I end the announcement, stepping away from the podium and entering the chateau once again. I know I’ve just dropped a bombshell on them and I would need the government backing me in order to make what I said true. That regardless of gender, my firstborn child  _ will _ rule France after me.

“What have you done, Your Majesty?” Narcisse asks me lightly as he joins my side. “Your father is calling.”

“Keep him stalled as I speak to the Prime Minister. And  _ please _ , find out if Mary’s mother is running for PM. We need to make sure the Crown and politics stay far apart from the other otherwise Marie’s prospects might reflect badly on us if any political scandals occur.” And I  _ know _ Mary’s family have a litter of skeletons in their wardrobes.

“Of course, Sir,” Narcisse says. “I will have the PM on the line in five minutes.”

I nod and head all the way upstairs to my and Mary’s rooms. She’s in bed, clicking the TV off as she gives me a look. “Don’t-”

“Your mother called. She’s losing her mind,” she tells me before smiling. “Did you mean it?”

I grin, leaping onto our bed and crawling on top of her, sending her giggling. “I did. Every word. I don’t want you stressing out over giving me a son. We’re in the fucking twenty-first century, my love. Any child of ours will be loved and they will be loved equally to their siblings and whatever we have first will be a king or a queen. I’m hoping for the latter. It’s time things changed for the better.” All of those things and the fact that I want a child, not an heir.

Mary beams happily, running her hands down my chest. “A woman’s touch and everything?”

“We do all come from women, don’t we?” I reply, pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I have to talk to the PM about it. Get things running and have the Archbishop confirm everything… It will be a process but it’s happening, Mary.” 

Pressing my lips against hers, a moan escapes her mouth and I start to undo the buttons of her pyjama shirt before I remember that I have the PM on the line  _ and _ my father right behind him. Sighing, I pull away and rest my forehead against Mary’s.

“I have to go,” I tell her quietly. “But you keep resting and I’ll be back soon.” I press kisses down her exposed chest and finish at her growing bump, planting one long kiss just above her belly button. “Be good to Mama. I love you.”

“They love you too,” Mary says. ‘They’ because we don’t want to pressurise our child nor find out until they are born. That and we don’t want our families to be on our backs about the baby. We want this pregnancy to be as easy as possible for Mary and that means no stress. “Now, go and work on changing years of historical law.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I whisper, capturing her lips in one lasting kiss before finally leaving her and heading back downstairs. 

“Lord Narcisse has the Prime Minister on call for you in your study, Sir,” a passing page tells me and I head there instead.

I collect the phone and take a seat at my desk. “Monsieur Macron, thank you for accepting my call.”

“Is this a direction you are very certain you wish to take?” He asks me. “Your father has been calling me but as protocol states, the King must go first.”

“It is a direction I want to take,” I tell him. “Regardless of my child’s gender, they will be my successor. That is final.”

Macron takes a while before he finally says, “Then it is done, Your Majesty. Extend my congratulations to the Queen.”

I smile. “I will. Good day, Monsieur Prime Minister.”

“And you, Your Majesty.”

* * *

“I’m happy for them,” Kenna says to her husband as she reaches for her knife and fork. The TV is clicked off by the butler and she starts cutting a piece of salmon on her plate. “Aren’t you?”

Looking up from his wine glass, Bash nods. “I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m not saying you wouldn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly says, making her mouth clamp shut as she sighs and looks down at her plate. “I am happy that they’re getting what they want. A family.”

Kenna smiles tightly. “Mhm,” she hums. “Mary’s wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. We used to have those Baby Born dolls when we were little and we’d push their prams about the garden… Those were the good days.”

“Before love scandals and forced marriages?”

Kenna’s eyes flicker to his and she shrugs a little. “Sure.” She reaches for her wine glass and takes a long sip, mentally sighing in relief.

It has been quite a journey, her newfound marriage and closed-off husband’s antics. She mostly avoids him but still, she insists on dining with him for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She doesn’t quite know why she does that, perhaps hoping that they can get to know each other better under informal circumstances. Dates are too much bother and at least, they can have some music or the TV playing in the background so things don’t get too awkward. But it’s hard, being in love with someone who doesn’t even want to be around you and wishes he was in the arms of another.

Bash sighs, placing his glass down. “I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?” Kenna questions, looking up from her food.

“I haven’t apologised,” Bash states awkwardly. “For my behaviour towards you. Even prior to our wedding. It’s unfair of me to put my discomfort and disappointment all on you.”

_ All? _ , Kenna thinks.  _ So, I deserve a few of your transgressions. _ “I’m sorry too,” she replies, not quite knowing how to respond to that. “I will try and put more of an effort into this marriage.” She bows her head. “I will be a good wife to you. I won’t disappoint nor discomfort you so I’m sorry if I have done so far.” She swallows hard. “I know you’re not oblivious of my feelings towards you so to make things easier for you, I will have the Duchess’ Quarters redecorated as soon as possible and I will stay out of your way to not cause any issues between us.”

“You don’t have-”

“Look, I will never be Mary, nor would I want to be a rebound for her. Neither of us wanted this marriage. Perhaps I wanted it once, but most certainly not now,” Kenna snaps. “You know what? I’m not hungry.”

She stands from the table, shoves her napkin down and leaves the room. As she passes one of the informal living rooms, she spies some of the house-help watching the TV and gushing over Francis and Mary’s baby news, she can’t help but feel so disheartened and jealous. It’s something she will never have, her laughable dreams of marrying a prince to sweep her off her feet and be her knight in shining armour destroyed.

Tears spring to her eyes and she continues on, keeping her head down as she passes the people who work at her grand abode. The day after the wedding, she immediately got to work reorganising and redecorating rooms with Bash’s permission, not that he cares about the rooms he won’t frequent in. But she does because it’s something to do when one’s husband does not care much for them. It’s a welcome distraction and she narrowly avoids an electrician on a ladder, speaking to his colleague about one of the chandeliers she wants to be put up in the foyer.

“Your Grace,” they greet her and she waves them off.

“It’s coming along wonderfully,” she tells them kindly before continuing on her way towards her temporary bedroom right next door to Bash’s room. As soon as she closes the door, she sighs in relief and allows the tears to fall freely. When a knock on the door sounds, she jumps and palms her tears away before she opens it and her brows raise a little. “What do you want?”

Bash hands her a plate. Her lunch. “I’m sorry. Again,” he says, the corners of his lips quirking upwards a little which makes Kenna snort softly. “I shouldn’t be punishing you for what my father did. To  _ us _ .”

Kenna sighs and puts the plate down onto her dresser before leaning against it. “Go on.”

“It’s unfair and there is a lot going on in my mind, a lot going on in my heart. I’m just angry at the world, angry at-”

“Mary?”

“She’s one option,” Bash says lightly, making her smile a little. “But I don’t want to be angry, Kenna.” He steps closer to her, closing the door behind him. “Not at you.” He steps closer. “Or anyone else for that matter.”

Kenna raises a brow when he takes one more step towards her. “Good for you,” she says, crossing her arms.

Bash smirks, stepping closer once more until he’s less than half a metre away from her. “Yeah. It’s nice, letting go of all of that anger and realising…”

“Realising?” Kenna prompts, tilting her head to the side.

“That I could eventually be happy myself. And have what Francis has with Mary. Love, a family.”

Kenna gives him a small smile. “Good luck with that, Bash. I’m sure you’ll find that one day when this marriage can be over,” she tells him, about to move past him but he stops her.

“I know you’re not stupid,” he says, making her narrow her eyes at him. “I meant with you.”

“I know  _ you’re _ not stupid,” she replies, crossing her arms once again. “Because I’m the last person you’d want that with. I know what you think of me. How you’ve acted around me for the past three months have been abysmal, Sebastian. The last thing I want is to be second best to a man who thinks less of me. You think a little bit of flirting will get me in bed and sate your needs, but I’m not stupid and I won’t be used as a substitute. I am either your  _ wife _ or I am  _ nothing _ to you. You can’t have your cake and eat it. You’re better off looking for a woman who looks exactly like your beloved Mary and-”

She’s shut up by his mouth on hers and she freezes, his hands going to her waist. Eventually, her arms slowly wrap around his neck as she sighs into the kiss. They’ve never kissed before and it’s unreal. At least for her, because she knows it’s probably nothing to him but she is not complaining. It’s going against her morals and what she’s told him, but right now, she craves his touch, she craves the feeling of being  _ wanted _ . Wanted by the man she so hopelessly loves.

When she pulls away, she gulps for air and sighs heavily, her eyes never leaving his. “A kiss isn’t going to change what has happened.”

“I thought it was a ‘reset’,” he readily replies. “We need it if this marriage is to be bearable. So, can we start again?”

Kenna finally tears her eyes from his.  _ The nerve of this man... _

* * *

“Your Highness, the vehicle services will be at least an hour, ma’am,” Margaret’s bodyguard tells her.

She scoffs in disbelief, leaning against her car as she crosses her arms. She was going to check on Henriette and Emone before stopping by at Fontainebleau to celebrate the baby news with Francis and Mary but her car has given up on her in the middle of the damn countryside where there is nothing but fields for miles.

“We could just transport you inside one of our vehicles and leave yours-”

“No,” Margot says. “I will never leave my car in the middle of nowhere. Have you seen it?” She gestures to the old school Ford Mustang, a gift from her aunt. “Someone will have a field day with it and steal it.”

“How about if one of us remains here with it?” The other bodyguard suggests.

Margot shakes her head. “I think I’d like to wait for the mechanic,” she replies, checking her phone. There is just one bar of signal and she decides not to call anyone but she does drop Leeza a quick text to let her know that she will be some time.

After thirty minutes, she gets word that the vehicle services will be another hour, having caught an emergency on their way. She almost kicks her wheel but stems her anger when a fancy Mercedes slowly drives by before stopping ahead of her bodyguards’ vehicle. A smartly dressed man exits the car and heads towards them with his hands in his pockets.

“Car troubles?” He queries.

Margot swallows hard, taking him in. He’s got short brown hair, brown eyes, a trimmed beard and his suit looks quite expensive. Then she wonders what he is doing in the middle of nowhere with nothing but countryside to offer.

“Yes, my car started making some noise before dying on me,” she tells him.

“Oh, I’ve worked with a few vintages before,” the man says, taking his suit jacket off and handing it to one of her bodyguards. “Mind if I took a look?”

Margot snorts. “I don’t even know who you are and-”

“Antonio Gallo-Ricci,” he says and she notes that he does indeed have a thick Italian accent.

“A bit away from home, Monsieur,” she replies as she pops her hood open and lifts it up so he can have a look.

“I’m here on business,” he explains. “Family business.”

Margaret nods slowly. “I see.”

“My grandmother is French and she wasn’t feeling too well so I offered to visit her since my own father is unable to,” he says, gesturing for her to get into her car as he tinkers with some stuff. “Try it.”

Margot looks at him dubiously before getting into the driver’s seat and starting her car. It roars to life, not making that horrid sound no longer and she gasps, applauding Antonio’s hard work. “Thank you so much! I owe you one,” she tells him, getting out but leaving the engine running. “Leslie’s my favourite car, I don’t know what I’d do if I had to leave her stuck here.” She turns to her bodyguard. “Cancel the mechanic.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Antonio retrieves his suit jacket and smiles widely. “It was no problem, truly. Miss…?”

“You truly do not know who I am?” Margot asks, bemused.

Antonio shakes his head warily. “Are you some actress? Or a billionaire’s daughter? The car does look quite expensive.”

Margot shares a bewildered look with her bodyguards. She holds her hand out to shake Antonio’s. “I am Princess Margaret, the Duchess of Berry and sister to the King of France.”

Antonio pales as he quickly bows and kisses the back of her hand. “Y-Your Highness! I didn’t-”

“It’s quite alright,” Margot says with a warm smile. “Why don’t you give me your phone number? I believe I need to make it up to you somehow.”

“Not at all. It was a pleasure,” Antonio quickly says. “I don’t need anything. I’m not even French so I don’t know how you’d be able to… Please, do not bother troubling yourself on my account.”

“It’s truly no bother,” Margot insists. “Where are you off to right now?”

“My hotel, ma’am,” Antonio stammers.

Margot smiles widely. “I know of a good restaurant. Would you care to join me tonight?” She then smirks. “I do not take ‘no’ for an answer, just to warn you.”

Antonio blushes and concedes. “I would be honoured to join you tonight, Your Highness.”

* * *

“...Margot, you’ll be marrying Henry-I’ve got to go, Philip’s here,” Leeza says, putting out her cigarette and turning around to face her guest and page. “Thank you, that will be all Gaston.”

“Oui, Your Highness.”

After he leaves, Leeza gestures for Philip to take a seat and she takes a seat on the sofa across from him, one leg over the other elegantly. She gives him a tight smile and gestures to the TV still running the news of her brother and sister-in-law’s baby news.

“Great news, isn’t it?” She asks.

Philip nods once. “The best. I am elated for your brother, the King and his wife,” he says. “Elisabeth, I wanted to tell you that I am due to return to Spain tomorrow. My parents hope that I’d be engaged by the time I land in Spain.”

“You already have my father’s and my brother’s permissions to marry me,” Leeza tells him. “And I am truly glad you waited for  _ my _ permission.”

“But?”

“None whatsoever,” Leeza tells him. “Philip, I can’t promise you that I will love you. But I am certain that we could have a content marriage. Eventually, have what my brother has with his wife.” She eyes the TV screen and stock images of Francis and Mary appear with discussion on whether or not Mary would have been pregnant in that particular picture or not. “I want you to propose to me, Philip. I want to be your wife.”

Philip eyes her warily and sighs. “Elisabeth, I know what you think about me. I hear the gossip of the chateau staff making fun of me. I think that we should see if this marriage is truly what you want. I know you were forced into this just as I was but from my end, I was attempting to,” he pauses,” well, at least make an effort. I had every intention of returning to Spain as a single man. No princess can be worth my dignity.”

Elisabeth stares at him in shock and she feels awful and guilty for the way she has treated him. When they were in school, he was, in fact, one of the kindest boys there was. He made friends easily, he charmed the girls who were considered to be wallflowers, hoping to instil confidence in them and see that they could be just as open and happy as he was. He wasn’t the worst choice of husband at all. Maybe that’s why she selected him in the first place.

“Philip, I sincerely apologise if I have made you feel discomfort and doubt regarding my feelings and actions towards you. It is nothing against your character, it’s just the way I am. I act out, I try and rebel so things can go  _ my _ way but I see how much it is hurting the people around me - you. I am so sorry, I hope you forgive me and allow me to be your wife one day.”

Philip stands from his seat, blushing when she doesn’t stand as well. He’s more or less disrespected her, not asking permission to rise or rising before she does. But she doesn’t look slighted in any way, her eyes wide and hopeful as she looks up at him expectantly. He can’t deny she is the most beautiful woman he has seen and he found it amazing to hear that she chose him. Although he doesn’t know about the other options so his joy decreased slightly upon the realisation.

Getting down on one knee, he retrieves a delicate burgundy velvet ring box and presents it to her, opening it. “Elisabeth, Duchess of Brittany and Princess of France,” he starts shakily, “will you do me the honour of becoming the Marchioness of Valencia and in the future, the Duchess?”

Elisabeth beams and nods, holding her hand out for him to slip the ring on. “I’d love to be your wife.”

She shuffles closer to him, perching on the edge of her seat to press a kiss on the corner of his lips. Then she decides to wing it and kiss him on the mouth fully, a gasp coming from his lips as she pulls his head closer to hers. Their noses brush against each other’s, and she giggles, making him smile shyly.

When they pull apart, she nods. “That was quite lovely.”

“Indeed it was,” Philip breathes out shakily.

* * *

“Well, that was inspired,” Kenna mumbles as she turns her head to look at Bash.

“Mhm,” he hums, swallowing hard before he sits up and searches for his clothes.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Kenna questions, sitting up and wrapping the duvet over her chest. “Rows becoming sex?”

“We can’t deny that there are passion and lust between us,” Bash replies lightly, pulling his trousers on and getting off the bed to do the zipper and button. “Are you complaining?”

Kenna shakes her head a little before nodding. “Bash, we’ve consummated our marriage after an argument.” And she doesn’t like that fact. She expected it to be romantic and loving, not whatever this was.

“You started the argument,” he reminds her, picking his shirt up. “And I don’t remember rejecting an offer to reset and start again.”

“You don’t understand-”

“Help me understand!”

She jumps at his raised voice and glares up at him. “I know what you think every time you look at me,” she says glumly.

Bash rolls his eyes, pulling his shirt down. “Pray tell, tell me what _ I _ think.”

“That you could do better,” she tells him quietly, looking down at her fingers. “You’re settling for me.”

“I kind of have to. We’re married, Kenna,” Bash snaps.

“And then you act like that!” Kenna cries out, covering her face. “I don’t like it! Your snarky remarks and mean comments.”

“It’s called sarcasm. I thought you were an expert on it.”

“Oh, don’t you dare go all high and mighty on me,” Kenna tells him, shuffling off her bed and searching for her dress. “You know what? My proposal from earlier still stands. I am either your wife or nothing to you and I am telling you now that I strongly prefer the latter option.” She releases her grip on the duvet and grabs her dress and puts it on. She finds her underwear strewn around the lampshade and sighs, grabbing it. “Get out.”

“Gladly,” Bash replies, leaving.

As he walks down the hallway, wanting to be away from her as far as possible, he realises that his bedroom is next door to hers so decides to continue on towards the Duchess’ Quarters. It’s not done, it’s probably in the process of replastering but it’s somewhere away from her without going outside in the cold.

He could wring her neck sometimes, try and squeeze some sense into her. But then he realises that she must be insecure if she keeps mentioning Mary. The same Mary who he hasn’t been with for almost a whole year after she broke his heart in favour of his brother’s and now they are having a baby when his marriage is hitting the rocks after a week before it’s even taken off the ground.

His phone rings and he answers it with a frustrated, “What?”

_ “Oh, lovely to talk to you too,”  _ Leeza sings.  _ “Guess what?” _

“What?”

_ “I’m getting married!” _

Bash rolls his eyes. “How lovely. Word of advice, after sex, don’t say a word. Just leave.”

_ “Ouch, what’s going on, Bash?” _ Leeza asks, concerned.  _ “You can talk to me, you know? I know Father has been a pain in all of our arses but he must be a real piece of work in your opinion.” _

Bash takes a seat on a nearby hallway armchair and sighs heavily. “Am I… Am I difficult?”

Leeza laughs. _ “Yes. Very.” _

“Great, you are no longer my favourite sister.”

_ “Oh, fuck you,” _ Leeza giggles.  _ “No, seriously though, you are kind of difficult. Now, talk to me. What happened?” _

“Mary,” Bash mumbles. “She’s always the problem between Kenna and me and I’m trying-”

_ “Nope.” _

“Sorry?”

_ “I don’t believe you’re trying, Bash. Girls talk, household staff listen and gossip. Word has reached my ears that you’re kind of… you’re not the best of guys towards her. Are you seriously punishing her for Dad’s actions? She’s just as hurt as you are and if I can recall from our school years, she was madly in love with you. Her locker would have your names in love hearts and we’d tease her about it but she didn’t care because she believed she was in love. But then we grew up and realised that love doesn’t happen for everyone and circumstances change,” _ Leeza says gently. _ “Stop being an arsehole and just try properly. I know that Francis’s baby announcement might have exacerbated your feelings towards Kenna because you wish that it was you and Mary announcing your baby news but Bash, you have a wife and she is her own person and not Mary. You’ve got to stop living in the past with the ghosts and come back to the land of the living and present. Make things right with Kenna, try for a life with her because I hate to be the one to let you know but, she isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” _

Bash bows his head and checks his bare wrist. He’s left his watch in her room. “When did you become so smart?”

_ “Well, I think being engaged to a wonderful man might have helped that,” _ Leeza says warmly.  _ “If I can change my cruel ways, I am sure you can. Us Valoises have a problem when it comes to doing things rationally and kindly.” _

“I’m not a Valois,” Bash whispers.

Leeza scoffs.  _ “Keep telling yourself that, buddy. I got to go and let everyone else know the good news before the world does. Remember, she is not your enemy but she is your future and a beautiful one at that.” _

“Are you attracted to my wife?”

_ “What happens between girls, stays between girls,” _ Leeza jests before hanging up.

Bash sighs and stands up, heading back to the way he came from. He comes across a new portrait and stops, looking up at it. It’s supposed to be on one of the formal living rooms’ walls but with most of the rooms being redone, its temporary home was just beyond the entrance of the Duke’s Quarters since Kenna’s quarters were being replastered.

The portrait is of the couple on their wedding day, with neutral faces, neither sad nor happy. They had taken many pictures and let Henry choose the best one for the artist to swiftly use as a reference to paint the portrait and deliver to their door. They’re not even touching, it’s like they can’t wait to be apart and he remembers that it certainly was the case for him. Their mouths may hold no reaction but their eyes say it all.

Continuing on, he knocks gently on Kenna’s door and when he doesn’t get a reply, he slowly opens the door and peeks his head inside. She’s nowhere to be seen and her lunch lays cold on the dresser. He enters the room, deciding to at least not let his trip be to waste and retrieve his watch. He finds it tucked under the bed and puts it on.

As he stands up, he hears soft sobs and turns around, finally noticing the opened door to the en-suite bathroom. Swallowing his pride, Bash enters the room and finds her in the empty bathtub, her face buried into her thighs.

“Kenna?”

“Do you know,” she starts, her voice cracking, “what it’s like to be so far away from home and everyone you love and be condemned in a marriage forced upon you? Knowing that no matter how hard you try, everything is pointless because… nobody wants you? I’m sorry you’re stuck with me. I’m sorry Mary chose Francis over you because underneath the wall you’ve built around yourself, you’re a lovely man and she is missing out.”

Sighing, Bash gets into the tub across from her and leans back. “Hi, I’m Sebastian. I, uh, work for the Royal Army of France and my hobbies always involve the outdoors and horses.”

Sniffling, Kenna looks up in confusion. “What?”

“Please, don’t let me repeat it again,” he says lightly. “Introduce yourself.”

Kenna warily lowers her gaze and swallows hard. “I’m Kenna. Yes, it’s short for something. I’m Scottish. No, we don’t all have strong, thick accents that you can’t understand,” she says, making Bash laugh and point at himself. “I understand your French splendidly.”

“But I guess Frenchmen and Scotsmen both have strong accents,” he replies.

She snorts. “Yeah,” she agrees. “Anyway, I like the outdoors as well. Anything to do with sports and mother nature. I wake up early just to see the sunrise and all of my problems melt away… But lately, I feel lonelier than ever doing that.”

“Do you want to watch the sunrise together? Tomorrow morning?” Bash asks quietly.

Meeting his gaze, she shrugs. “If you want,” she says, resting her chin on her kneecap. “It’s quite early.”

“It’s a good thing that I’m an early riser then,” he replies with a slight smile. “What do you say?”

Kenna nods.

* * *

“I never thought that I’d be dining with a French princess,” Antonio Gallo-Ricci states, taking a sip of his wine.

Margot smirks, playing with a strand of her hair. “I never thought I’d have my beloved car saved by an Italian… what  _ do _ you do again?”

Antonio lets out a chuckle, giving her a small smile. “I work at my father’s company in Italy. ‘Rezanance’.”

Margot gasps and almost knocks her drink over. “‘Rezanance’? As in the chain of luxury clubs, ‘Rezanance’? Hell, I’m a princess and I  _ still _ have to book months in advance to go to the one in Paris!”

Antonio blushes and shrugs. “That’s how we stay in business. We’re high in demand for events and hang-out spots. If we reject princes and princesses, we’re seen as picky with our clientele  _ and _ it makes people crave to come to our clubs even more.”

“Incredible,” Margot breathes out. “What are the chances that a billionaire’s son would fix my car? How do you know how to do that, by the way?”

Antonio grins then sips his wine and places the glass back down. “I have my own selection of cars. Fast supercars, vintage vehicles, classics… I’m a collector and I seldom spend my days off tuning my vehicles and driving them around the estate.”

“You’re pretty awesome,” Margot replies, resting her chin on her hands. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“You are the princess here, Your Highness.”

“Oh, call me  _ Margot _ ,” she whispers flirtily, leaning back in her seat and taking a sultry sip from her wine.  _ Who knows where the night will take us? _

As Antonio obliges to her request, Margot can’t help but glance at his exposed chest. What she’ll do to run her nails down the tanned skin, marked with fluffs of dark brown hairs. She’s never felt strongly attracted to a man before and her father’s namesake, because she  _ knows _ her suitor’s parents named him after her father, is not the slightest bit attractive, in her opinion. Antonio is quite muscly, clean-cut and he’s stupidly attractive with his eyes never leaving her own and his smile sweet and almost shy-like. She retrieves a cocktail stick from her burger and bites it between her teeth, watching him watch her like a cat with a yawn ball.

“...get going.”

“What?” She asks, snapping back into the room from her thoughts.

“I should get going. I need to return home to Italy tomorrow,” he explains.

Margot blinks in surprise. “Oh, how lovely,” she says. “You must be excited to see your family again.”

“I’m very family-orientated,” Antonio says which almost makes her swoon but she keeps herself reserved. “Your Highness, thank you for a wonderful night.”

“What if I said I hoped to have more of these  _ wonderful nights _ ?” She asks him.

Antonio bows his head, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I’m flattered but-”

“There’s someone in Italy,” she guesses, smiling tightly.

He nods, strained as he seems to consider it. “It was lovely meeting you, Your High- _ Margot _ but I have a life in Italy that is already interesting.”

“No worries,” Margot says with a small smile. “Are you engaged to this woman?”

Antonio’s brows raise. “Not exactly-”

“How long have you been together?”

“A year.”

“Do you think that she could be… ‘the one’?”

Antonio lets out a chuckle. “I think it’s still early to tell.”

“So, you’re going to your hotel now, right?” She asks casually.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t I drop you off?” She suggests happily.

At first, he’s about to say ‘no’ but when he sees her brow arch upwards, he relents and nods much to her happiness. If a princess is this insistent on making sure that her debt is paid off in return for his aid, who is he to reject her offers?

“I’d love that.”

* * *

_ Thursday 14th February _

“Happy Valentine’s, ma Cherie,” I whisper, pressing a kiss on my wife’s cheek as her eyes open slowly. “How are you feeling?”

“Energised,” she says, yawning before we chuckle and my hand goes to rest on her bump. “Now, I do. That was a lovely yawn.”

I quickly peck her lips and get out of bed. “I’ve taken the liberty to clear both of our schedules today. We’re going to Chambord and we’ll stay there until Sunday, conducting any business we need to from there.”

Mary nods, rubbing her bump. “I’d like that,” she says. “I look huge.”

I chuckle, pulling the curtains open as the door opens cautiously. “Yes, the Queen is ready to eat. You better hurry, the baby’s hungry too,” I say lightly as Mary chucks a pillow at me and the servants enter. I take a good look at the amount of food brought. “Mary!”

“What?” She asks, sitting up and grabbing a napkin. “The baby’s hungry.”

Laughing in disbelief, I head into the bathroom to get ready for the day. Our flight is scheduled for two hours’ time and I have a whole day’s worth of activities to do with my wonderful wife for our first Valentine’s Day together as a married couple. It may or may not include certain bedroom activities but I hope to at least spend time doing other things away from any lovemaking surfaces. 

Finishing up in the bathroom, I reenter the bedroom and find that Mary has ravished all of the food and she’s alone. She meekly gives me a smile, blushing as she wipes crumbs from the corner of her lips and I can’t stay mad at her.

“I’ll go downstairs and get my own breakfast then,” I say dramatically. “I’ve run you a bath.”

Mary tuts. “You didn’t have to,” she says, getting out of our bed and heading into the bathroom to gasp. “Francis!”

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I point over to the rose petal-filled bathtub. “Your favourite,” I say, kissing her neck. “I even got you new makeup to try on for today.”

She reaches a hand behind her head to rub my neck. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

“I might need you to repeat that,” I reply, biting the bottom of her ear lightly.

“Happy Valentine’s,” she whispers, turning in my arms to kiss me hungrily before pulling me towards the tub. “Join me. Forget breakfast, you’re eating me.”

I lift her into my arms. “As Her Majesty wishes,” I reply.

Just before we leave the chateau for the drive to the airstrip, my phone rings. I send Mary on, not wanting to let her stand and wait as she busies herself with carrying our child. I step aside and Narcisse backs away, patiently waiting as I answer the call.

“Yes?”

_ “Francis, hello! It’s Kenna.” _

My heart jumps. “Has something happened to Bash?”

_ “Oh, no! Not at all,” _ she quickly says.  _ “I just had some news to tell you.” _

My brows raise at that. “Oh, what?”

_ “Well, you see, you remember that Bash went back to Service last week to Afghanistan and won’t come home until Easter,” _ she tells me nervously. I hum in reply and she continues with,  _ “I managed to get ahold of him earlier and let him know that I’m pregnant. I am pregnant, Francis.” _

My brows raise once more in surprise. “Oh, you’re…”  _ How did  _ that  _ happen _ , I think. “So, you…” 

I can imagine Kenna rolling her eyes.  _ “Yes, Francis. Apparently, married couples have sex. I didn’t realise the only one time would be very successful…” _ She sounds almost embarrassed.  _ “And last month, you and Mary obviously announced the news of your little bundle of joy… So, what do I do?” _

“First of all, are you alright?” I ask her gently.

_ “Yes. I think so. I’m a little shocked, I did find out early this morning when I broke my wrist and went to the hospital for some painkillers. I’m alright,” _ she breathes out.

“Is your wrist okay?” I ask in alarm.

_ “Yes, I tripped on these damned stairs. This chateau is haunted and cursed, I tell you,” _ she says before laughing a little.  _ “I’m okay. My wrist will heal up in a couple of months and… the baby is fine.” _

I sigh. “Congratulations, Kenna.”

_ “Thank you, Your Majesty,” _ she replies.

“Okay. Well, just enjoy having the news be just for you and Bash,” I tell her. “And then after Easter, we’ll have it announced. I’m really happy for you both.”

I hear her swallow hard before she says,  _ “Thank you. I’ll let you go. Look after our mummy bear, the girls and I can’t wait to throw the baby shower.” _

I laugh loudly at that, already starting to make my way to the car. “I will look after her. You look after yourself.”

_ “I will,” _ Kenna says before the call ends and I get into the car.

“Who called?” Mary asks me.

I slip her hair behind her ear. “I’ll tell you later,” I reply, giving her a kiss as the car drives off.

* * *

Chambord is beautiful this time of the month, despite the weather still being cold and bitingly so. It snowed over the month and as it nears March, the weather is improving with slight persistence. When the car pulls up to the front doors of the chateau, I help Mary out of it and release her to hurry to one of the bathrooms to relieve her bladder as I go and make sure that my plans are still on.

Chambord is a glorious chateau, defended by a moat and lined with gorgeous, manicured fields. It blends traditional French medieval forms with classical Renaissance structures. It features 440 rooms, 282 fireplaces, and 84 staircases and is ten minutes away from gothic-styled Blois where Bash and Kenna live. I consider visiting Kenna with Mary tomorrow since we’re nearby and I’m sure Mary will be pleased to learn Kenna’s news. 

The interior of Château de Chambord is elegantly styled with deep blues and golds and I’m sure Mary will get lost trying to locate a bathroom by herself. As I wait, I look around the place, admiring the art and accepting a warm mug of hot chocolate from a passing butler. It’s funny how the staff at any of my chateaux know what I want before I even request something.

As I walk down the hallway, I come across a portrait of the first King Francis of France. The first Francis that was king used Chambord as a hunting lodge and seldom, my father brings his friends or other people of nobility or status here to hunt with the hounds they keep in the kennels and a 1,200-horse stable. I know he is disappointed that none of his sons has taken to hunting. It just doesn’t excite me, killing harmless birds and other prey. I’ve always been an animal lover.

“This place is stunning,” I hear my wife say and I reach a hand out to take hers. “I got lost. Ten times!”

I chuckle, kissing her cheek. “I’ll give you a tour. When we were little, we lived fifty minutes away at Amboise before we moved to Montrésor permanently. It was for a year since Montrésor needed repairs and when it was my father’s birthday, he took me hunting. I was seven and I remember crying at the sight of the bloodied hare he’d ‘helped’ me kill. Most awful moment of my life.”

“Oh, dear,” Mary says. “Well, we won’t be doing any of that, will we?”

“We will have target practice, just not with live animals,” I tell her before leading her outside into the cold where an archery location has been set up during her toilet break. “Remember doing this for Sports Day?”

She laughs, retrieving a pair of leather one-fingered gloves. “When I beat you?” She asks me.

“I let you win,” I reply, handing my empty mug to a footman.

“And got a good telling off from the boys,” she replies, snorting as I scoff and put on my own gloves. “Let’s see if our baby’s a little archer like their mummy.”

She heads to a target and stands a good few metres away at the marking point. She lifts the bow up, nocks the arrow and then after a couple of seconds, she releases the arrow and lets it fly.

It meets the middle of the target.

“Very good, Your Majesty,” one of the assistants say as they applaud her efforts.

She smirks, watching as I get into position. “I’d like to see His Majesty beat that,” she tells the men, making them chuckle a little.

I turn to one. “Blindfold me,” I order.

“Are you sure about that?” My wife asks me as he comes forward with a black blindfold and puts it on for me.

“Very sure, Cherie,” I reply, getting back into position and raising my bow. I take a deep breath in and release it before I release the arrow and hear it hit the target. Slipping the blindfold off, I’m pleased to see my arrow piercing through Mary’s one. “Never doubt my talent.”

“You really did let me win,” she says in disbelief. “God, you have it bad for me!”

“Of course, I do,” I tell her, kissing her deeply as the men turn around to give us privacy. She giggles when my lips trail down her neck before she swats me off as we get a little too heated for comfort. “Later.” It’s a promise.

“Am I submitting to you or are you submitting to me?” She asks, her eyes darkening with lust.

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” I whisper into her ear before we have a few more rounds of archery. 

After archery, we head back inside into the warmth. I have painting and pottery sessions planned for us, all the things Mary wants to do but we haven’t had time to do lately. I’ve been busy, I know I have been and she too has been busy doing her own royal engagements and helping her mother’s prospects behind the scenes. I know I promised her that she could have a job, but everything is a process that needs to be performed and I don’t want anything to fall back on us so we must have it watertight before she can be free to have her hand in Politics.

“What’s next?” She asks.

“Pottery,” I say, leading her to one of the downstairs rooms. The pottery teacher is a lovely elderly woman who hands us aprons. I put my one on much to my wife’s amusement when I catch the pottery pun written on it.

Mary’s has two little handprints that cover her bump and she smiles widely, pressing our hands against it. “Maybe we can make something for the baby,” she suggests. “Like a cup to hold their first toothbrush in!”

“Or a little box to keep all of their fallen baby teeth,” I add, making her groan before laughing. “Awful, isn’t it? My mother did that. Mind you, in diamond-encrusted boxes.”

Mary snorts. “Mother gave me one-hundred euro for each fallen tooth as well as ten pounds before she threw them out. What’s a fallen tooth, hmm?”

I help her onto a stool in front of a wheel and pull my own over to the other wheel. After a quick course run of the pottery bowl that we’re attempting for today’s session, we get going and I flop immediately. I glance over and see Mary’s delicate hands working on her own bowl and it’s taking shape, my eyes glancing over to my own bowl that resembles a blob more than a bowl.

“There is always tomorrow,” the instructor tells me in French as Mary continues to mould her bowl expertly. That’s my wife, whatever she does, she does it like a pro and I smiled stupidly, proud of her talents.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, quickly glancing my way with a blush rising up the cheek that faces me. “You’ll distract me.”

“It’s Valentine’s, I’m allowed to distract you,” I say. “I did cancel a whole day’s worth of work just to distract you.”

She chuckles and when her bowl is all nice and done, we put it in the kiln together to cook or bake or whatever pottery does. I didn’t listen much, my attention more focused on my wife, in all honesty.

“It’s for you,” Mary tells me when we finish cleaning up. “The bowl. You can use it for breakfast.”

I pout. “Now, I feel terrible that I failed my own bowl,” I say as she pecks my cheek.

“It’s the thought that counts,” she tells me and turns to look at my blob which the instructor sets about cleaning up for me. “I like my… blob.”

I laugh and press a kiss on her lips before leading her out of the room, thanking the woman and giving her a generous tip for our first lesson. We head to one of the sunrooms where two art easels are resting by the windows, the view of the beautiful moat covered in ice before us. I’ve always been artistically and musically talented. Sports were just a hobby I happened to also perfect but deep down, my artistic side is my favourite. I took up photography when I was thirteen and dabble now and then but painting is something I haven’t done since I became king.

I pull up a high stool for Mary to take a seat on as I prepare the paints between us. When I’m done, I grab a paint palette and start squeezing blues, greens and white onto the palette along with black. I catch Mary doing the same but using brighter colours like yellows and pinks.

“You’ll see,” she says when she catches me staring at her palette curiously.

In silence, we work, every brushstroke smooth and definite. It’s a peaceful thing, painting and it’s more serene and beautiful doing it with my wife beside me as our child grows inside of her. My little family, the three of us. When I’m almost done with my painting, I turn to my wife and gain her attention.

“I’ve been thinking of names…”

“Oh?” She replies, sticking her tongue out a little when she does a few brushstrokes on her canvas.

I nod. “Mostly girl names. For the boy names… I got a bit too cocky thinking about naming our potential son, ‘Francis’.”

“Well, sons do succeed their fathers,” Mary muses. “It’s a wonderful choice.”

I smile a little. “But as a middle name,” I finish and she turns to me. “If we have a son, I’d like him to be named for your father, James.”

The paintbrush slips from her hand and her eyes sting with tears. “Y-You’d want that?” She breathes out in shock. “For our son to be named after my father and brother?”

“It’s only right,” I tell her. “You did say how much you wished you had a piece of your father,” I reply softly. “And James… You are really close to him and I’d see if I can get us to attend his wedding in August.”

“But we’re not allowed-”

“I’ll make it happen,” I promise her. “You will see your brother marry just as he saw you marry.”

Mary gives me a teary chuckle and reaches over to kiss me. “Thank you,” she whispers, sniffling. “God, I’m such an emotional wreck!”

“You’re pregnant, it’s fine,” I laugh, kissing the side of her head.

“You said you also had names for girls?”

I nod a little, pulling away to look at her. “‘Anne’. ‘Marie Anne Joséphine’.”

“After my mother and me,” Mary breathes out. “Your mother will kill you!”

“Good thing that I’m the king so she can’t,” I reply, making us laugh. “I’m sure we’ll have a good few daughters so we can always name the second one after my mother if she’s still butthurt.”

Mary giggles and hugs me tightly. “You’re wonderful, do you know that?”

“No. You might wish to say that-”

“Wonderful,” she whispers, pulling back to stare into my eyes. Her hand raises and her finger brushes over my cheek and it’s a while before I realise that it’s now cold and… wet.

“You devious, little-”

She squeals when I reach for my paint palette and slather shades of blue down her cheek. She blinks in horror before reaching for the yellow paint bottle itself and squirting it down my shirt. And then she’s off running, me chasing her through the halls of Chambord, our laughter and squeals echoing through the chateau.

* * *

“Your Royal Highness,” Leeza’s page says, handing her a bouquet of roses. “From the Marquis of Valencia.”

Leeza bites her bottom lip happily as her mother eyes her with a raised brow. Placing the bouquet down onto the table, Leeza hears Margot snicker and sends her a slight glare. “At least I have a boyfriend, sorry,  _ fiancé _ to buy flowers for me.”

That shuts Margot up and she rolls her eyes, continuing to eat her lunch. “I still can’t believe you and him are a real thing.”

“Neither can I,” their father mutters, flicking through his newspaper. “God, the news is just boring today. Are there no pages worth mentioning our family? Or at least Francis and Mary.” He puts the newspaper down and eyes Leeza. “I am happy that you’ve found something valuable with Philip. If you so choose to do so, you could get married at the end of the year.”

“Father, I’m still quite young,” Leeza replies, slipping her hair behind her ear and taking a seat before her plate. “We’re happy to get married next year.”

After a while, Margot’s page arrives with two bouquets of flowers and she sends her sister a coy smirk, coming to collect them herself. “Would you look at that, Elisabeth? Looks like I’m slightly more popular.”

“Are those from Henry Navarro?” Their mother queries, sending a sharp glare at Louis who tries to feed the family dogs some of his food.

“One is,” Margot confirms. “The other is from the son of an Italian billionaire.”

“Your mother knows all of the Italian billionaires,” Henry says. “Which one?”

Margot smirks. “Damian Gallo-Ricci. His second son, Antonio.”

Everyone drops their cutlery and Catherine stares at her daughter in disbelief. “Antonio Gallo-Ricci is courting you?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Margot drawls. “He’s got a girlfriend. We are really good friends.”

“Good friends do not send flowers to each other on Valentine’s Day,” Charlie states.

“Gal friends do,” Margot and Leeza both say before lightly glaring at each other for their ‘twin moment’. 

Margot coughs a little. “He saved Leslie.”

“Leslie?” Henry questions.

“My Mustang, Father. She broke down on my way home from visiting Henriette and Emone,” Margot explains. “He was visiting a relative and happened to fix my car. I had to pay him back with dinner and we dropped him off at his hotel afterwards. He is positively kind and since then, we’ve become close friends.”

Claude giggles and sighs wistfully. “So, that means you’re having sex.”

“Claude!” Margot cries out, blushing.

“Margaret?” Henry demands.

Margot shakes her head frantically, turning to her parents. “I am  _ not _ sexually active. I have no idea why I need to state that to my parents in the company of my younger brothers.”

Catherine warily rubs her temples. “I hope I do not need to remind you all, of the consequences of sexual relations prior to marriage.”

“Francis-”

“-is King,” Henry finishes. “He can have his cake and eat it. Your older brothers have the freedom to see whomever they wish and do whatever they wish with those people. We made precautions for them since they were insistent on being rebellious against the rules. That does not mean our precautions extend to the rest of you.”

“Bedding a prince or princess is seen as valuable,” Catherine continues. “Actions have power, people can use sex against you and dear Lord, why am I telling our eleven-year-old son this?”

They all turn to Louis who blushes under their gazes. “I’ll have my lunch in my rooms,” he says, hurrying out of the room with his footman behind him. When they all turn to Henri Jr, he too leaves, his footman carrying his plate behind him as they head out of the room.

“Now listen,” Catherine says. “You’re teenagers or young adults now. You’re bound to be feeling waves of desire and-”

“Dear Lord, Catherine. Surely, they have been given the 'talk’ at school?” Henry tells his wife.

“You can always tell us again!” Claude says, grinning when her siblings glare hardly at her. “What? Mother and Father surely had a lot of sex considering how many of us there are. And we all know how Francis and Mary made their baby!”

“I could murder you,” Margot hisses into her ear.

“Mother!”

“Margaret!” Catherine exclaims.

Margot lets out a frustrated scream and covers her face. “You don’t need to go through anything at all! Antonio and I aren’t having sex. Nor am I sleeping with Navarro either!”

“ _ You _ might not be having sex,” Claude starts, turning to Leeza, “but  _ she _ is.”

“Grab the shovel, I’ll find a gun,” Leeza tells Margot and they both nod.

Catherine’s eyes widen and she turns to her eldest daughter. “Elisabeth?”

Elisabeth sighs and nods. “Philip and I are sexually active. But I see no problems! We’re getting married next year and well, Francis and Mary obviously were having sex before they got married-”

“These children will be the death of us,” Henry mutters. “God, why?”

“Are you practising safe sex at least?” Catherine asks through gritted teeth and a tight smile.

Leeza nods. “We are. I am! I promise,” she assures her parents. “It was only twice, by the way. To see if we’d be compatible in… in bed.”

“Dear Lord,” Henry mutters, rolling his eyes. “Are we done here?”

Catherine waves him off dismissively and he rises from his seat, his children standing also. “For the love of God and all things holy, children,  _ remember _ who you are and who and what you represent. Any actions reflect on your brother and the image of how the subjects see the Family. Be smart.”

“What your mother said,” Henry says before leaving.

Taking their seats, Margot and Leeza retrieve their knives and turn to Claude.

Claude gulps.

* * *

“Delivery for you, ma’am,” Madame Lombard, the female housekeeper of Blois, tells Kenna. She hands the woman a large bouquet of lilacs attached to a small card.

“Oh, thank you,” Kenna replies, placing the bouquet down onto her bed as Madame Lombard leaves her alone. She lifts the card and scans it with raised brows and a soft blush creeping on her cheeks.

She wasn’t expecting to receive anything for Valentine’s Day, it’s not like she and Bash are close enough to send gifts to each other but she retrieves her tablet and starts scrolling for something to arrive by the time he returns home. He’s probably got her about two-hundred blooms with how much space they are taking on her bed. She wonders how he even managed to organise this from all the way in Afghanistan.

Just as she’s about to click to view some watches, a Skype call starts ringing and she quickly fixes her hair and answers it with a bright, “Hi!”

_ “Did you get anything in the post today?” _ Her husband asks casually.

Kenna smiles. “I did. The flowers were lovely, thank you.”

_ “I wasn’t sure whether I could or not,” _ he says nervously.  _ “We’re somewhere but not there if you get what I mean?” _

Kenna nods once. “Yes, I do,” she replies. “I apologise for not getting you something because I really wasn’t expecting anything but when you come home, I’ll have a surprise for you.”

_ “A surprise?” _

“Yeah, you’ll like it,” she promises with a wide smile. “So, what are you up to right now?”

_ “Not much. We got back from a humanitarian run half an hour ago. I thought I’d take the opportunity to see if you got the flowers,” he says. “It’s around dinner time so we’re pretty much let go for the rest of the evening,” _ he informs her.

She nods. “I see.”

_ “How is the baby?” _

“You asked earlier,” she says, amused.

_ “Can’t I ask frequently?”  _ He retorts, chuckling as he leans closer and folds his hands together.

She chuckles, placing her bad wrist on top of her nonexistent bump. “I think they’re doing well. As far as I can tell.” She clears her throat and adjusts her position on her bed so she isn’t squashing her flowers. “I wanted to ask… do you think that it’s too soon for us to have a baby?”

Bash shakes his head.  _ “We can’t go back in time. It’s happening, Kenna.” _

“That’s not what I meant,” she quickly says. “Nor am I thinking about aborting it obviously, but… I mean, children should be brought into the world to loving, happy parents. We are mere acquaintances at this point.”

_ “Right, okay.” _

“Things are awkward between us. We have no boundaries set in place and well, I don’t know what we’re doing,” she tells him, laughing nervously. 

Bash eyes something away from the screen and when his attention returns to her, he says,  _ “Let’s go on a date when I get back. We can get to know each other more and hopefully, by the time the baby arrives, we’ll have a better relationship to give them a stable, loving home. How about that?” _

Kenna nods, tears springing to her eyes. “I’d love that,” she mumbles, smiling. “I’m so glad we’re trying.”  _ Perhaps, we can have what Francis and Mary have. A loving marriage and a beautiful family with each other _ , she thinks excitedly. She’s getting her sweet wish. Not in the way she expected but it’s still a result for her.

_ “Me too,” _ Bash replies but Kenna sees that his smile is slightly forced and she suddenly feels the desire to end the call and be alone for the rest of the day.

So, she puts her plan in place.

“I’m feeling nauseous,” she announces. 

_ “Oh, I hope your morning sickness is too bad?”  _ He replies, concerned.

She smiles a little. “It’s bearable. I’ve got to go,” she says, ending the call without getting a reply.

Chucking her device onto her bed, she crawls to the pillows and takes a seat, flicking the TV on. She sees that it is on the news channel and it’s covering a segment about Francis and Mary and their romantic getaway to Chambord. It’s ten minutes away from her and she gags, covering her face with her pillow when Francis and Mary share a kiss on the screen, the video taken from months back at an event.

“Your Grace,” Madame Lombard calls her, entering the room without knocking. Kenna doesn’t mind, the woman has become somewhat of a second mother to her since her mum is all the way home in Scotland. Home. France is her home now.

“Madame Lombard,” she says, putting her pillow down. “What can I do for you?”

Madame Lombard smiles warmly. “I was wondering if you and the baby would like to try some of my chocolate cake.”

Kenna’s eyes light up as she hurries to get out of her bed. “Yes, please!”

As they make their way to one of the informal living rooms to eat the cake, drink some decaffeinated tea and watch a film, Kenna is alerted to a guest's presence and she diverts her journey towards there instead, with Monsieur Lombard.

She’s surprised when she sees that her guest is Prince Charles and he looks almost relieved to see her despite her knowing full well that she barely knows this brother of her husband’s. She only knows Francis and their sisters, Leeza, Margot and Claude well enough. The others are below her age range.

“Your Royal Highness,” she says, curtseying. “What a surprise.”

Charles laughs nervously and bows slightly. “Your Grace. I, uh, I need your help.”

“Mine?” Kenna questions in confusion. “I don’t think I can be of much help.”

“You don’t even know the situation,” the blonde says, amused.

Kenna snorts. “Well, we barely know each other,” she explains. “And well, your half-brother is not at home at the moment.”

“I am well aware of my brother’s lack of presence,” Charlie replies. “And I am hoping we could get to know each other better.”

There are five years between her and Charlie and she raises her brow when she fears that his words may mean he wishes to know her on a certain sexual level. She truly prays that is not the case as he steps closer and places a hand on her forearm.

“I have a girlfriend,” he starts, making her sigh in heavy relief, “and I’ve screwed up so badly. I would ask my sisters but they have their own problems to deal with and I am pretty sure Leeza and Margot are burying Claude alive right now.”

“What?”

“Long story,” he dismisses her, “I obviously can’t ask the Queen nor my mother so  _ you _ are the next best option.”

Kenna is flattered and nods. “What can I do for you, then?”

“I’d like to make a grand gesture to my girlfriend. We’ve been together for a little over a year and I’m hoping we’re in for the long haul,” he tells her. “Can you help me with ideas to save my relationship?”

If her love life is terrible, she will make sure that other people’s love lives are better than hers. At least she will have something to be happy about, the knowledge of bringing two people together in happy bliss.

“Of course, I will!”

* * *

I run a paintbrush down Mary’s bump and press a kiss on her neck, a moan leaving her lips as I chuckle. She shivers and I know the vibrations did that to her, she’s so tender and sensitive and the pregnancy has heightened her senses more than usual.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles and I laugh against her skin when I realise that certain lovemaking actions have left us with a dried paint-covered blanket over us to keep us somewhat warm from the cold but the blanket only reaches the bottom of her bump because of my paintbrush adventures.

Pulling the blanket up over her breasts, which have grown wonderfully to my advantage, I kiss the corner of her lips. “How’s that?”

“Better,” she says, smirking. “But I’d prefer a bed. My back is starting to kill me.”

Getting up, the blanket slips from my lower half and my wife lets out a wolf-whistle as I chuckle and grab my jeans. Quickly getting dressed, I then help her with her clothes and soon, we’re heading to our room for the next couple of nights.

“I had fun today,” Mary murmurs tiredly. “Best Valentine’s I’ve had in a while.”

I smile at that. Obviously, our previous Valentine’s Days were planned in secret so our affair never got out. But I’m glad everyone found out. I was tired of hiding what Mary and I have. She has always been the one for me, ever since we were kids, I could remember being utterly in awe of her. Over the years, my feelings for her became even more deeper and loving, getting to the point that I could not breathe without her.

Now, she’s pregnant with our child and wearing a ring that I put on her finger.

Getting to our room, I pick out a pair of comfortable pyjamas for Mary and hand them over to her before undressing myself. I decide not to bother with a shirt as I get into the bed and watch her collect her skincare bag from her suitcase. 

I love watching her do her daily and nightly rituals. How meticulous she is when she works on maintaining her beauty and she blushes under my gaze every time. I naturally enjoy the effect I have on her but she has no idea of the effect she has on me, herself. If I had to watch one thing only for the rest of my life, it would be Mary Stuart.

“I love you,” I find myself announcing. It makes her stop creaming her face as she turns to me with a soft smile.

“I love you too,” she replies, coming over to peck me on the lips and get back to finishing up with her rituals.

A while later, as she sleeps with her head resting on my chest and her hand over my heart, I can’t help but think how lucky I am. I sometimes spend time comparing our relationship to other relationships and I find myself grateful.

My father and mother did not love each other initially. They were always at war, news articles dating back to the eighties, explaining their disdain and slow-burning flames for each other. Father’s affairs, because he did have multiple with only one resulting in an illegitimate child in Bash, did not help things. 

I always admired my mother and I knew the way she was thinking back when I was engaged to Olivia. I only had to keep her as a wife and I could be very much my father’s son, under my wife’s nose to her knowledge or behind her back, leaving her second-guessing herself. My mother is one of the strongest women I know. She never lets anyone know what she truly feels, she’s the epitome of calm and composed. She keeps her battles behind closed doors and in public, she’s the graceful Queen or Queen Mother today. I know it must still hurt, the constant reminder of my father’s affairs present today. Even though she has forgiven his misgivings, I’m sure she wanted the fairytale marriage her own parents, my beloved grandparents, have. My mother fought for her place in France, being of Italian blood, whereas Mary only got half of the brunt since her mother and uncle hold very high positions in the French government and she  _ is _ half-French. It’s a lot easier now than it was back then, but where they had reservations for my mother, they heavily supported her whenever accounts of my father’s affairs got out.

I honestly do not know what would have happened if Mary and I weren’t married, having affairs behind our partners’ backs. I’d hate to think of the world ostracising her, the world she cares about so deeply. I would never be able to keep her a secret after a long while, she’s much too important to me to do so.

“You’re thinking too much,” my wife mumbles, opening her eyes tiredly. She knows me too well and I press a kiss on the side of her head as she presses her hand deeper on my chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, that’s the thing,” I reply, smiling when she does too. “I was just thinking about what I’d do if we weren’t married. The fact that I can publicly love you, show you off, show people how much you mean to me… It means a lot.”

Mary stares at me in awe and plants a kiss on my breastbone. “I’m happy we’re together and we’re celebrating our first Valentine’s Day  _ married _ . Do you know how much I’ve wanted that over the years? To be yours and you mine, fully. You bring joy into my life. Here’s to many more Valentine’s Days with you.”

I cup her cheek and press a kiss onto her lips, taking it deeper when I shift over her, emitting a moan from her lips. I trail kisses down her jawline to her neck, hearing her soft sighs as her nails rake my back. I could spend every single day making love to this woman and never get bored. Her quick breaths, moans and sighs drive me insane and I get hungrier, craving her taste and I head down from her neck to the valley between her breasts, my fingers trickling down her soft skin. 

“Down,” she murmurs.

I smirk against her skin, planting kisses as I go further down her body until I reach her sweet spot. I’d hate to disturb the chateau this late at night but all I want is for my wife to be screaming my name until morning comes.

* * *

_ Friday 29th March _

“Does Catherine know that  _ you _ are planning the Easter Ball and not her?” Lola asks Mary as she and their friends look around Versailles at the colourful decorations the staff are putting up.

Mary sighs, rubbing her bump. “Maybe she just wants to take a lot of the pressure off of me,” she replies, “I  _ am _ pregnant.”

“Yes, but this is your first Easter Ball as Queen,” Kenna reminds her. “It’s supposed to be your mark, not hers.”

“Old habits die hard,” Greer mutters and the other women nod in reply. “At least your Christmas Masquerade Event was splendid. I’m sure all the guests would think that is better than what Catherine is planning now.”

Mary grimaces, stopping as she turns to them. “I don’t want to be in a constant battle with my mother-in-law. And I don’t want to drag Francis into it. This is my problem.”

“Maybe he could suggest that your mother steps down a little?” Aylee offers. “You can’t always back down whenever Catherine bombards herself into things that are your responsibility.”

Mary stares at her in disbelief before sighing and nodding. “I guess so,” she says nervously, “it wouldn’t hurt to ask gently, right?”

“Right,” her friends say.

Kenna checks her watch and gasps. “Oh, God. I am not meant to be here right now. I’m supposed to be halfway home,” she says, watching her friends’ confused glances. They have a party to plan somewhat. “Bash is coming home today. I had something planned. To show him that I’m making an effort.” She gives them a tight smile, realising that only Mary knows that she is pregnant and she sees the concern in Mary’s eyes. “I need this marriage to work so I’ve got to go-”

“Mary! There you are,” Catherine says, hurrying over with her secretary hot on her tails. She pulls Mary aside. “You have got to try the cakes. I’m having a large in-house cake being prepared. Oh, and a little something for Henry. Lord knows why his parents gave birth to him and Charlotte on a day that falls on Easter.”

“We could celebrate the King Father’s birthday tomorrow instead,” Mary offers. “I’m sure he’d not want to have attention drawn on him on Easter.”

Catherine smirks. “Yes, indeed. But it wouldn’t hurt to do a little special surprise for him on his actual birthday, would it? I actually need your help, all of you. All the men here do not have the brains to plan spectacular events and it’s usually down to the women of their success anyway. Would you all mind staying the night?”

Mary nods eagerly, relieved to finally be planning  _ something _ for the next couple of days. If it’s for her father-in-law then it’s still a bonus because it will score her more points with him. Somehow, Mary knows that Henry and Catherine still have their reservations about her, it hasn’t been easy at family gatherings. Francis’s siblings adore her, except the select few (Claude and surprisingly Louis), but his parents always seem to keep wanting to test her. Her patience, her smarts, her public presence. It’s like they want her to trip up and fall to then say “I told you so,” to Francis. But she won’t disappoint him or herself. She  _ is _ a Valois now and there is nothing anyone can do about it.

“Where do you need us?” Mary asks happily.

They are led to a small hall located in the lower West Wing of the chateau, where it is in the process of being decorated with blue and silver streamers and balloons. There is a ‘Happy 47th, Your Royal Majesty’ banner hanging over the grand windows and Mary nods approvingly when Catherine eyes her expectantly.

“It’s great so far,” Mary says verbally. She turns to her friends briefly. “I am sure we can take over so you can plan the Easter Ball?”

Catherine places a finger on her chin thoughtfully before agreeing. “I’ll make sure to have you choose a selection of pastries for the Ball. Until then, the rest of this party is in your hands. Do not fail me.”

She leaves and Greer pulls a face after her, making the other women giggle. Heading to the great dining table at the centre of the room, Mary sees that the seating cards are blank and she goes around, collecting them as her friends take on other tasks.

“Does she mean to leave the seating arrangement with you?” Aylee asks Mary.

Mary shrugs. “I hope so. It’s only the family, I’ll make sure to sit Claude far away from the elder twins.” Their relationship has been peculiar of late. She spies Kenna checking her watch frequently and she heads over to the drinks bar to meet her. “You can go if you want to.”

Kenna shakes her head, planting a smile on her face. “You need all hands on deck to make sure this party pleases the King Father  _ and _ Queen Mother,” she says. “I’m sure Bash is very tired anyway and I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I’ll sit you both near Francis and me,” Mary informs her, retrieving a bunch of silver pens from a female butler. She takes a seat at the head of the table and starts writing the names of the family members neatly. 

When she is done, she places Henry’s at one end of the table and Catherine’s beside him on the right before doing the same with her and Francis’s name cards at the other end. She strategically places the rest of the name cards at the rest of the seats before accepting a menu from the sous chef.

“The King Father likes vol-au-vent. Sweet and simple,” the sous chef explains.

“Then, vol-au-vent all around, it is,” Mary says with a bright smile. “We could have Frangipane for dessert. And add a bean, I’m sure the guests will adore the idea of a secret reward.”

The sous chef nods and beams. “I’ll let the chef know. How did you know the King likes that tradition on his birthday?”

Despite not attending Henry’s birthday the previous year due to being in Scotland on family matters, Mary heard her husband’s recount of the night and the traditions Henry adored over the years. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out,” Mary says coyly. 

As she instructs a man to lift a few balloons further up, Mary can’t help but feel excited to see the King Father’s reactions to her decisions. It might just solidify her position in the family because it’s very different from her position in the country as a whole.

She rubs her bump. “Your mama is a smart woman, little one,” she says tenderly. She feels a kick and she grins. “And you’re smart for agreeing with her.”

* * *

_ Saturday 30th March _

When I wake up, I feel Mary snuggled into me and I smile, pressing a kiss on her forehead which awakens her from her slumber with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she murmurs. “I’ve got to make sure everything’s set for your dad’s-”

“Shh,” I hush her. “It’s ‘us time’.” 

I kiss her lips slowly, massaging her hip in circles as she lets out a moan. My fingers trail down her hip, to her thigh, squeezing the flesh under my palm. I could spend a thousand hours in bed with this woman, forgetting the world. Intending for my fingers to do wicked deeds, someone on the other side of our door has different ideas and I let out a pained moan into Mary’s mouth, making her grin in reply.

“They couldn’t have given us  _ five damn minutes _ ?” I ask as I roll off of her and she gets out of the bed quickly, pulling her robe on to answer the door. I make no moves to cover up and she gives me a look to which I reply with a smirk.

“You’re so  _ urgh _ ,” she says with a smile as she opens the door wide just to teach me a lesson. I smirk though, the duvet covering my lower half as I seem to magically have a shirt appear from thin air. She glares at me. “Narcisse, good morning.”

Narcisse raises his brow but does not get into our little ‘spat’. “Your Majesties. The King Father requests the King and the rest of his sons for a hunting trip.”

I sigh, getting out of the bed. “Is it a must? Can’t we watch a movie or something?”

“It’s what he wants to do, Sir,” Narcisse explains wryly. “It contains enough hours before the birthday feast.”

“I’m actually busy finalising things anyway,” Mary says, giving me an encouraging smile. “I’m sure it will be fun, Francis. Just don’t think too much about it.”

I hate killing animals, I despise the sport but it has been a royal custom for centuries and who am I to unwrite thousands of years of tradition? I’ve already done that by making a potential daughter sole heir to the throne. Running my fingers through my hair, I turn to Narcisse. “How long do I have to get ready?”

“He’s been kind. You have an hour,” Narcisse replies. “The Queen Mother is treating him to a large breakfast. I’m sure his intentions are to try everything she had made for him.” He smirks. “And it was a lot.”

I give him a grateful smile before he dismisses himself and Mary closes the door. I walk up to her, place my hand on her bump and kiss her forehead. “I’m going to be a wreck without you.”

“I doubt that,” she replies, leaving my grip to head into the bathroom. “Want to save time?” She poses seductively at the door, giving me a daring finger to come closer to her.

Scoffing, I follow her beckoned finger and pull her into the bathroom. She fumbles with the belt of her robe as I start the shower, sending her amused glances over my shoulder. After a while, she stops fighting the belt and turns on her side, viewing her bump through the sink mirror. She’s got a bit of a bump now, nothing too major as she is quite petite but she’s showing a little and a smile grows on her face as she turns to me.

“It’s real.”

“I think it has been real for quite a while now,” I tell her, making her roll her eyes playfully. “You look beautiful. But you might be more beautiful if you took that thing off.”

Calmly, she undoes the belt and slides it off sultrily before sliding her robe off of her shoulders and sauntering up to me. The robe falls at her feet and she wraps her arms around my neck, begging for a quick peck.

About to kiss her, I think otherwise and pull her into the shower, feeling the warm stream hit my back. I pull her against my chest, feeling hers flushed against mine. I know just as much as she does that this little shower session would prove anything but efficient in time-saving because right now…

Her warm body is against mine, sending electricity through my limbs as we finally kiss. Her fingers massage my now wet hair as I try to get as much water onto hers as possible under the single stream. A certain part of me awakens and I smile against her lips when she gets the same idea.

“A quickie?” She whispers against my lips.

“Definitely.”

* * *

Narcisse is the one to greet Bash and welcome him home as Bash looks around at the ongoing processes for tomorrow’s events. As they walk past everything towards the Orléans’ rooms, Narcisse spies Lola talking to the rest of the Queen’s close friends, including the Duchess of Orléans. Deciding to get close enough to the woman to ask her about her day, he brings Bash’s attention to the man’s wife.

“Oh, there she is,” Bash mutters dismissively. “I can talk to her later. I just want to sleep before we eat-”

“Actually, you and your brothers are to follow the King Father hunting,” Narcisse informs him.

Bash rolls his eyes and sighs. “Very well,” he replies as they head into the room. 

It’s a mere casual sitting room, the women enjoying tea and cakes as they wait for the Queen’s arrival. Bash notices that Margot and Leeza are present and he guesses that Claude couldn’t be bothered to join in because of her lack of presence.

“Oh, Sebastian! You’re home!” Leeza exclaims, getting up from her seat to hug him first with Margot following after.

He chuckles wryly, accepting another hug from Margot this time as his eyes land on Kenna who is standing behind his half-sisters. “Wife.”

“Husband,” she replies simply. “May we talk in private, please?”

He gestures towards the exit and she heads out first as he turns back to his sisters. “We’ll catch up soon,” he promises them before waving at the other ladies and nodding at Narcisse who ‘decides’ to give them some privacy.

He leaves the room, watching Kenna spin on her heels to face him as the doors close behind him. He takes her in, she’s wearing a simple pink flowery dress that flows over her bump or lack thereof. She doesn’t look pregnant at all, only slightly bloated but she could definitely pass as someone who isn’t pregnant.

“I had something planned for your return home yesterday,” she starts quickly. “I was meant to come down but Mary needed my help for today and you know how your stepmother would get if everything wasn’t done perfectly. Welcome home, Sebastian.” She awkwardly opens her arms wide and steps forward for a hug.

He accepts the hug, patting her back awkwardly before she sighs sadly and pulls away. “Kenna-”

“It’s nothing.”

Bash goes to say something but he can’t. When they were chatting over video-call, things were awkward but they were getting along well, sharing funny stories and getting to know each other better. Now, being physically together, it’s quite uncomfortable and he hates the awkwardness just as much as she does.

So, he decides to remove it as much as he can. “I have to go hunting with my father and before we know it, the family dinner will roll around but after all of that, I know of a way you can properly welcome me home.”

Kenna raises her brows. “How?”

“Do you like surprises?”

She shrugs indifferently. “I don’t know, it depends really.”

“Either way, I  _ hate _ them so I’m doing you a favour,” he says, placing his hands on her shoulders before he glances down to her midriff. “Is the…?”

Kenna smiles a little, looking around before placing a hand on her tummy. “They’re okay. I had a check-up a couple of days ago. It’s, uh, that’s what part of the surprise to welcome you home was. I had a big thing planned out.”

“Can I?” He removes a hand from her shoulder and brings it down towards her hand.

“Yeah, of course,” she replies, feeling his hand over hers. She smiles warmly, realising that they take a step towards each other.

He shares a smile with her and their earlier little awkward moment is forgotten about. “What were you going to say? About a big thing being planned out?”

Kenna blushes before she looks up at him through her lashes. “You know when you have a heavy history of multiple babies on both sides, it can influence whether or not you do as well… We’re going to have our hands quite full, Bash.”

“You’re not saying…”

“Twins, Bash. We’re having twins.”

“Sebastian, you made it!”

They turn and spot Louis hurrying up to him, almost sending Bash falling with his hug. Watching Bash ruffle Louis's hair, Kenna smiles fondly and notes how good of a father he would be. If he isn’t the best of husbands, he would be the best of fathers, especially with his close relationship with his younger siblings.

“We’re going hunting,” Louis bemoans, pulling away from Bash. “When will Dad realise that  _ no one _ likes his hobbies?”

Bash chuckles. “Lord knows. I’ve got to sort something out right now,” he grabs Kenna’s hand and starts leading them away, “but I will see you very soon, Louis.”

His younger brother pouts but nods, letting them go. “We’re meeting at the kennels in fifty. I’ll see you there.”

Bash nods and leads Kenna to their rooms, bringing her into his and closing the door. He lets go of her hand and turns to face her. “God,” he breathes out. “Are you serious?”

Kenna blushes, feeling the tingles on her palm from where he held her so tightly but naturally. “Yes. Is that a bad thing?”

“No!” He exclaims, making her jump as he runs his hands down his face. “No.” It’s softer now, almost conflicted. He sinks down into a seat and sighs. “It’s great news, Kenna.”

Bewildered, Kenna comes over and crouches by him. “Then why do you look like it isn’t?” At his silence, she continues with, “Is it because you wished you were going through this with Mary? One minute, you were getting married and thinking about building a family together, the next, you’re building families with other people.”

He turns to her, surprised. “What makes you think that?”

“Am I right?” She answers his question with a question of her own. “I can’t imagine what’s going on in your mind, in your heart even. As you were gone, I took the time to fully understand you. To try and see how I could make you happy, how I could make this marriage bearable for us both… I used to resent you for being in love with Mary but I understand… It’s hard to get over someone who was so important in your life. You’ve been in love with her for years, you had her and then you lost her. That’s utterly unfair and what happened after, your relationship with your family and Mary being strained… You must have been so angry and upset and alone and I have no right to downplay all of that.”

“You deserve better,” Bash says quietly, bowing his head so he doesn’t look at the way her eyes fall and the tight smile on her face. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “It is what it is,” she tells him. “I want us to be friends, the very least. Perhaps, one day we’ll both find some happiness whether it’s between ourselves or with other people. We’d be content.” Her phone beeps and she quickly checks it. “Mary’s looking for me.”

Standing up, Bash helps her up and presses a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll walk you down.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Kenna tells him, heading to the door and stopping in front of it. She turns and gives him a smile. “If you take a thirty-minute nap, you’ll make it in time to grab a quick shower and get to the kennels.”

“I’m not that tired-”

“You look like you could sleep for days,” she tells him gently. “Do they not let soldiers sleep or something?”

Bash shakes his head wryly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Because of your mind running at a thousand miles per hour?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Kenna, I do want to try.”

“But you need time,” she finishes. “And you’ll have it.” She leaves him alone, wondering how he’s going to allow himself to open his heart up to her. After all, she can’t be the worst of wives to have and she seems to have become more mellowed and understanding.

Bash can’t quite remember if he ever had a woman understand exactly how he felt. And he finds himself wanting more.

* * *

“I don’t understand what you all have against hunting,” Father is muttering to himself as we trudge through the woods with our bloodhounds. “My father, brother, sister and I all went hunting when I was growing up. It was the one thing my father cared enough to spend time with us on.”

“Times have moved along, Father,” Louis tells him. “Hunting is no longer a good thing. We should care about the animals. In fact, I think I’ll become a vegetarian!”

We all snort about that as we know how much Louis loves his gourmet burgers. In fact, meat is his favourite food in general. I pat Louis’ back and give him a slight grin when he scowls back.

“You do understand the meaning of ‘vegetarianism’, don’t you?” I ask.

“I’m not stupid,” Louis snaps. “But if it means getting out of hunting, I’ll gladly give up meat.”

“And fish and venison,” Bash adds when Louis’ eyes widen. “Oh, you didn’t know that includes salmon and stew?”

Our father laughs and we settle when a few of the dogs pick up something. “Right,” he says. “I think we’ve got some wild hares about. The dogs will love them for dinner.”

He’s the first one to clock a hare and aim his gun. I pull Louis and Henri back as Bash and Charlie step backwards too. Before we know it, we all wince at the sound of the gun going off the disturbance in our surroundings, the hare dropping dead.

“Go fetch, good boy,” Father tells his hound which hurries to claim its prize. “Who is next?”

Begrudgingly, I step forward with my gun and when the dog returns with the hare, Bash retrieves the carcass and chucks it into a basket before they all step back away from me and settle into silence so I can focus.

I find a hare relatively quickly and kneel to aim and shoot. The hare pauses in its movement, nibbles on some greenery before hopping onto another bush to nibble at. Just before I place my finger on the trigger, I see movement a few yards away and soon, a pair of small hares hop after the bigger one and my finger slacks.

“Well?” Father whispers impatiently. “Shoot. We haven’t got all day.”

“It’s a mother hare, Father,” I tell him, standing back up. “She’s got two kids.”

“And I have ten,” Father mutters, aiming his gun.

“Father, please don’t,” Louis begs him. “Why don’t we pick another activity to do together? How about fishing?”

“You hate fishing,” Father mutters, closing one eye as he focuses his aim.

_ So he does know a few things about what we like and don’t like _ , I think slightly bitterly. “Father-”

“Why would you deny those two baby hares their mother when you’ve probably already killed their father?” Bash asks him sternly. “It’s enough, the dogs can share. It’s big enough to mix with the kibble. We can go fishing as Louis suggested.”

Father sighs, turning to us. “You never used to complain about my hunting.”

Bash clears his throat. “Well, it’s different now.”

“In what way? It’s still a sport favoured amongst royalty and nobility. Last time I checked, we fit the bill,” Father snaps, eyeing the trio of unsuspecting hares.

“It’s different because… I’m to be a father myself,” Bash says and I raise my brows at him for spilling the beans.

Kenna is in no way showing at the moment and I thought they’d want to sit on the news, especially as it means hearing, “I told you so,” from our father. I turn to our father, not focusing on the shocked but pleased glances my brothers give Bash. Father is surprisingly baffled at the news and he brings his gun down, the family of hares scuttering away.

“So, I’ll have two grandchildren by the end of the year? Huh, how lovely,” he muses, picking his gun up and leading his dog away.

“Congratulations,” Charlie tells Bash, steadying his dog who is ready to catch up with the one with our father. “Does that mean you love her?”

“Sorry?” Bash asks.

“Well, you wouldn’t have children with someone you didn’t love,” Louis states.

Henri Jr snorts. “Looking at Mother and Father, I doubt that.”

“I mean  _ now _ , dummy. These days, Henny,” Louis snaps, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you look at Francis and Mary?”

“Why don’t we go back to my question aimed at the intended person?” Charlie asks, rolling his eyes. “Well, do you love her?”

Bash furrows his brows, getting ready to follow on after Father. “Why would you ask that?”

Charlie snorts, the rest of us trailing and avoiding tripping. “She talked about you a lot when I visited Blois,” he says casually.

“When did you visit Blois?” I ask, not recalling seeing him when Mary and I went the day after Valentine’s.

Charlie blushes. “Valentine’s Day. My girlfriend lives near Blois.”

“Since when do you have a girlfriend?” Bash asks, receiving a glare from Charlie which means he is not getting out of answering the question yet again. “Kenna and I are complicated. That’s it.” Then he pauses. “She talked about me?”

“She did,” Charlie affirms. “She looked like how Francis looks whenever he brings Mary up. Like you guys can walk on water or something. So, I assumed you loved her just as much as she loved you. Nevermind.” He looks saddened by that and as Bash lags behind and Charlie and I get ahead, I nudge his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

Charlie smiles wryly. “This family doesn’t do ‘romance’ well, do we?”

“I’m sure you and your girlfriend have got things covered,” I offer. “Love doesn’t have to be concise or spectacular. It just has to be true and with the right person.”

“Can you have more than one true love?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only ever known Mary.”

Charlie nods. “I’m glad you do,” he tells me. “You’re going to be great parents. Dibs on being the favourite uncle.”

I laugh, slapping my hand on his back as we continue down the tricky path behind our father with our brothers trailing behind. By the time we get back to the chateau, Father already has fishing organised and we get into two vehicles to take us to the lake since he doesn’t want to walk anymore.

At least we’re finally doing something worth all of our times.

* * *

“How was it?”

“Awful,” I mumble, deciding against a tie for the birthday meal. I can’t wait to see what Mary has got planned for Father, at least it will bring up his spirits after our tense morning. I turn around and see my wife struggling to zip up her dress. “Does it even still fit you?”

She turns, her eyes flashing red. “Excuse me?”

I chuckle, coming up to cup her cheeks. “I’m joking. I’m sure we can make this work,” I tell her, turning her around and attempting to bring the zipper up. I struggle and I can tell she is less than pleased so I give up. “I’m sure we can find-”

“I had this dress in mind for ages,” she says, tearing up. “I like planning in advance. I just didn’t put in the factor that I’d be a whale!” She’s full-on crying now and I sigh, cupping her cheeks and pressing a kiss on her nose.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur, planting kisses on her jawline and then on her neck. “So beautiful…” 

Sliding the dress down and pushing it from her hips, I hungrily devour her neck. Her moans and whimpers make me smirk as shift the dress from her frame and fling it elsewhere. Her fingers find my shirt and she starts undoing the buttons as my hands trail down her hips and around to her bottom.

“We’ll be late,” she says breathily.

“Don’t care,” I mumble, taking my shirt off and grabbing her hand before leading her to our bed.

When we’re done, we hurry downstairs and meet everyone already seated. I don’t let them stand on our behalf as I sit down, my cheeks flushed as Mary takes her own seat.

“Wardrobe troubles,” Mary mutters as the servers bring in our starters.

From the looks on my parents’ faces, I know they do not believe her story. I don’t care, every chateau we frequent pretty much knows about how sex life and my desire for my wife during her pregnancy has only increased both of our sex drives. I had been worried, scouring through the internet to see if those stories from fathers were true about the lack of attention from their partners but Mary was very attentive.

“Everything looks wonderful. Thank you, Mary,” Father says, making my wife beam happily.

“Wait until you’ve seen your cake,” she replies, digging into her chicken salad.

Father smiles back and continues eating as the rest of us dig in. Eventually, he says, “I’ve relieved very good news today. Perhaps, it could be considered as a present. Catherine, Sebastian and Kenna are expecting.”

I look over at them. Kenna looks mortified at the news being revealed and Bash looks guilty, whispering something into her ear. She relents and slides her plate away, nodding as my siblings and mother offer ‘congratulations’ to them.

“Two grandchildren, aren’t you lucky?” My mother tells my father.

“You’ll be its grandmother too,” Father informs her much to her slight disdain as she hides it with her wine glass. 

The servers return with our main meals and this is when Kenna takes her chance to be excused, citing that she’s got a headache and her morning sickness is horrible. We let her go without argument as Bash will stay just until dessert before he will follow her.

“Vol-au-vent!” Father cries out, turning to my wife with a look of disbelief. “My childhood has met my adulthood. My mother, Claude, would make this every Saturday. We’d take some to Church. Feed those less fortunate. Thank you, Mary. This might actually be my favourite birthday.”

That makes Mary tear up as everyone applauds her. I press a kiss on her cheek, smiling against her skin as I whisper, “You’re always going to be one of us.”

I know she’s been so intent on proving herself to my family, making everyone know she is a Valois just as much as we are through water and not by blood relation. I am very pleased, taking her hand and pressing a kiss on the back of it.

“That’s my wife. Always considerate,” I tell them proudly.

The rest of the meal goes by wonderfully with my father being surprised with dessert and his birthday cake. From ‘might’, it is finalised that this is my father’s favourite birthday and I can’t be any prouder than I am of my wife.

“I’ve got the bean!” Claude cries out, brows raised as she reveals the bean from her frangipane. “Guess I’m Queen for the rest of the day.”

Father chuckles and nods. “What would Her Majesty like? Sapphires or rubies?”

“Really?”

“Anything you want, Claudie,” Father replies and I see a hint of my old father. The one who’d take us on adventures before the burden of ruling our country affected him.

Claude smiles fondly and nods. “Then I want to go for a ride with you, Daddy.  _ I’ll drive _ .”

“As you wish,” Father says, bowing from his seated position which makes us laugh.

We have my wife to thank for this and I kiss her, not caring that the others are watching. I see Charlie smile happily when our eyes meet and I blush, wiping some lipstick from the corner of my lips as Mary helps out cheekily.

“Dad, how about Margot and I join in?” Leeza requests.

“In fact, why don’t I get Emone and Henriette flown over and we can do something, girls?” Father suggests. 

“I’m sure they’d love that! And they can stay for Easter,” Mother says excitedly. “Oh, it would be wonderful to have all of my children under one roof again.” She gets teary-eyed and Leeza hands her a napkin. “Mary, thank you.”

My wife smiles and bows her head curtly. “My pleasure.”

* * *

_ Sunday 31st March  _

Today is Easter Sunday  _ and _ my father’s and aunt’s official 47th birthday. Despite already celebrating Father’s birthday yesterday between family, my mother still insists on doing something special for him today on the actual day despite his pleas for not wanting to steal the limelight from Easter. The last time he and his sister had their birthday on Easter was in 2002 when I was twelve. My father had a lowkey hunting party with his friends on the Saturday before we wished him a happy birthday on the Sunday morning before focusing on Easter for the rest of the day. But this year, my mother has a surprise for him waiting outside.

“Dear God, Cat, and you’re letting the pregnant Queen come out into this weather?” Father grumbles as everyone makes their way outside to see what she has in store. 

“I’m fine,” my wife insists, a hand permanently on her bump as I help her around with an arm linked with hers. She’s not showing all that much despite being 27 weeks pregnant and quite naturally slim but she says her ankles are fattening up, meaning walking is uncomfortable for her and her back is killing her.

When we get outside, my mother does some sort of signal and the next thing we know, a bird show is on display. Colourful birds, big and small expertly dance a routine directed by their handlers. The audience ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and I almost jump when a parrot lands on my shoulder and squawks into my ear, “Majesté!”

Everyone laughs and I applaud the bird as it flies off, repeating the word over and over. “Bravo,” I call out, sharing a smile with my mother.

I turn and spot my father’s wide eyes staring at the birds in disbelief. Despite hunting them for sport back in the day, he’s really into birds and has a collection of bird books in his private library. When he was little, he’d go on bird excursions with my uncle. When the show is over, he is presented with two canaries and two parrots, male and female matches.

“Catherine, I don’t know what to say…” My father says, choked up as the canaries start singing.

“Don’t say anything, just listen,” Mother tells him as we all enter the chateau, leaving them to their privacy.

Times like these make me happy that my parents are on good terms. They have argued significantly less since he abdicated and their marriage has only got stronger. My siblings and I are well aware of the affairs my father had as we were growing up but lately, he’s mellowed in his middle-aged years and settled contentedly with my mother. He’s even taking up learning Italian again.

“Your parents never cease to surprise me,” Mary whispers to me as I take one last glance over my shoulder at them kissing before looking forward.

“Same here,” I reply.

The party continues on with talks of baby shower plans for Mary next month and that reminds me of Kenna’s situation as she, Aylee, Greer and Lola talk over each other before me and Mary who just laughs at her friends’ antics.

“We’re not having an ice sculpture,” I say, catching wind of something Aylee gasps out.

“A little cherub sculpture, Your Majesty,” she says, her hands flourishing about as if that will convince me. “Or Cupid!”

Mary chortles, stroking my hand. “We’re not having any sculptures, Aylee. But we wouldn’t be opposed to peacocks.”

“Peacocks!” I cry out. “No-”

“The baby shower is for  _ women _ , Your Majesty,” Greer says to me, tutting. “What do you care if peacocks are present or not?”

I pull a face. “They will poop everywhere.”

“Mary’s dogs poop everywhere,” Lola states.

“Touché,” I reply, taking a sip of my drink as I spot Julien walking over. “Thank God. Save me from these crazy women!”

Julien chuckles before he links his arm with Lola’s and they both turn to me. “Your Majesty, we come to you with the intention to marry.”

I share a not-so-surprised glance with my wife before I smile widely. “I approve,” I tell them. “Congratulations.” I hug them both, Lola last as I whisper into her ear, “ _ Finally _ , someone’s making an honest man out of Julien Varga.”

Julien snorts and smoothly twirls his fiancée into his arms. “I was always going to be made an honest man out of,” he tells me. “To the right woman.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” Mary asks. “We must make sure it doesn’t coincide with certain events such as birthdays and it must follow protocol. Will you have it at one of the chapels? We could always try Amboise, it is a romantic hotspot.”

I nod in agreement. “Yes, Amboise seems like a good choice should you have it in France.”

“We will marry in France,” Lola confirms.

Julien gives her a loving smile before turning back to us and saying, “We were thinking… next February.”

“Wonderful, we will pen it down whenever you have a set date,” I tell them. “And attend.”

The couple beams happily and head off to speak to Julien and Remy’s parents as the other women continue to talk about the baby shower. They have crazy plans and I’m quite baffled by them all, wondering when Bash will arrive already. The only ones who know that Kenna is pregnant are Mary, me, my family and I think Kenna’s family but we haven’t really announced anything formally since she’s not showing at all. Or she knows how to hide things.

“I’m starting to feel tired,” my wife mumbles, leaning into my side.

“Excuse me, ladies,” I tell her friends, leading her out of the room and towards our rooms upstairs. “Are you feeling okay?”

Mary nods, blinking slowly. “Baby is sleeping so that means, Mama must too,” she says lightly as I help her up the stairs. “God, my back is killing me. Can you get-”

“The long pillow?” I finish for her. “Already done.”

Mary cups my cheek when we reach the top of the stairs. “You’re so good to me,” she says tearfully.

“Don’t you dare get emotional on me again,” I tease her with a soft kiss on her lips. “Come on, Mrs Valois, let’s get you in bed.”

“If you wanted sex, you could have just said,” she jests.

I gape at her. “Mary! I mean to  _ sleep _ ,” I respond in kind. “Such a filthy mind, you have, Mrs Valois.”

“Only for the King’s ears, Mr Valois,” she replies lustily, looking around before nibbling at my neck.

“Mary… there’s a part-”

“Shh, ten minutes,” she begs against my skin.

I sigh and concede. “Fine,” I reply, fully knowing it will be more than ten minutes. “Whatever Mrs Valois wants, she gets.”

Her giggles and my chuckles echo on the walls as I lead her to our rooms quickly, staff bowing as we pass, ignoring them anyway. By the time I have the both of us stripped of our clothes and moaning in bed, I forget all about the time limit I set myself to return to the party.

There are always more Easters.

And by next year, we’ll have our baby in our arms.

* * *

_ Friday 5th April _

To announce the other baby news in the family, we decide to do it via newspaper in an attempt for it to be lowkey. Bash and Kenna are not exactly ‘Senior Royals’ but as the half-brother to the King, any of their news are still considered to be just as important to be shared. To celebrate the news properly with the family, my father has organised a lunch, hosted by the Orléanses at Blois much to Bash’s annoyance. 

He’s still not happy with our father for forcing the marriage between him and Kenna and Kenna is not all too happy with Henry’s presence either, given the rumours that were spread between them. We all can see how tense things are whenever the three of them are around each other, especially at Father’s birthday dinner.

“I’m so glad that you and Kenna are getting along,” Father says as we eat, cutlery hitting china plates and many bottles of red being consumed. I can see Kenna eye a few filled glasses as she takes a sip of her ginger tea gingerly with a wince. “Fathers always know best.”

Before that can start an uprising, I say, “At least now, our child will have a cousin close in age to them.” I take my wife’s hand and kiss the back of it as she lovingly rubs her bump. “They will be the best of friends.”

“How lovely,” Leeza says, smiling. “Right, Bash? Your little one running around with Francis and Mary’s little one?”

Bash lifts his glass and nods. “Yes, lovely,” he mumbles, taking a sip from his wine as I give him a look.  _ Make more of an effort; it’s only three hours, _ I try to tell him through our eyes. We have a silent conversation and it’s cut short by Kenna excusing herself from the table, citing she needs the restroom.

Margot stands and excuses herself to follow just in case she needs help and I squeeze Mary’s hand when she looks heavily concerned. I watch as her eyes meet Bash’s and she looks away quickly as he sighs and swirls his drink around, his eyes fixated on it.

Mother clears her throat, gaining everyone’s attention. “How about we go to Church this Sunday? At the Versailles chapel?”

“Yes,” I say. “That is a good idea. I’ve not been able to go due to my duties but we should go more often. Reaffirm our faith with God and the Church.”

Mother beams at that and nods approvingly. “Indeed. And I think some of us need a little prayer. Some more than others,” she replies, lifting her glass to her lips coyly as I restrain myself from rolling my eyes.

“So, we are in agreement,” Father says. “Church, this Sunday.”

After lunch, everyone pretty much leaves but I stay with Mary as she rests in one of the guest bedrooms. Despite the end of the second trimester meant to give pregnant women more energy, Mary finds herself drained easily. Every pregnancy is different but it seems to concern her as her midwife assures her that she’s fine and she and the baby are healthy, just in need of sleep and good food.

I find Bash preparing to go outside for a horse ride and decide to join him, learning that Kenna is resting too, following a horrible bout of morning sickness during our lunch. I did notice she barely touched her meal as she downed ginger tea after ginger tea.

“Pregnant women, eh?” I say lightly when we trot over the field by the stables. “How is your relationship with Kenna now?”

Bash shrugs. “Better,” he tells me. “But we’ve come to accept this somewhat. I guess we have to if we’re to be parents. That and we’re both royally pissed off with Father.”

I chuckle and then finally say what I meant to say when I first found out that Kenna was pregnant. “I didn’t think you’d go through with it. Sleeping with Kenna”

“We had to,” he says simply. “That and uh, it was done out of passion, you could say. I’m glad that it’s got her pregnant now because I don’t know if I could have relations with her again,” he replies awkwardly.

“Why not?”

“I doubt she’d let it happen,” he says cryptically.

I furrow my brows. “What happened?”

“Why do you assume something happened?” He retorts defensively and I now know for certain that something has happened between them.

I shake my head in disbelief and bite my bottom lip in thought. After a while, I tell him, “Whatever happened between you, fix it. Buy her flowers, pamper her, woo her, anything to fix what happened. Because you’re not only in this marriage for life, you will be parents to a child and that child can’t afford to live in a broken home. Not with who its uncle is.”

Bash gives me a look that I can’t quite decipher. It’s on the verge of pained yet annoyed yet unsure. He swallows hard and sighs heavily. “ _ Those children _ . It’s twins. I’m praying it’s a boy and a girl so we can have the best of both worlds,” he tells me, a smile gracing his features and it’s genuine and makes me smile too.

“Wow.”

“Yes, ‘wow’ indeed,” he says before sighing once again. “They deserve the world, regardless of what is happening between Kenna and me, and I know it’s my fault because I refuse to let her in and I keep hurting her but… how can I fully accept what was forced upon me so easily? It’s only been what? Three months?” His eyes widen. “Exactly three months today.”

We dismount from the horses and let them be led away by the stablehands, removing our helmets as we head into the chateau. As we walk, I take my time to study the art on the walls, the previous Dukes of Orléans and as we near Bash’s quarters in the opposite wing of Kenna’s (I am not too surprised they sleep separately), I’m surprised to see their large wedding portrait on the wall.

“It’s supposed to go in the East Wing formal living room,” he explains to my surprise, “But I had to put it up somewhere temporarily. The drawing-rooms are being remodelled to her liking and the sitting rooms are too stuffy for something so modern… It fills the wall space, at least.” He sighs, eyeing it warily. “I wish we’d smiled a bit more. It’s dreary.”

I’m led into his bedroom and he goes to grab a drink at the minibar. “What happened, Bash?”

“She can read me like a damn book,” he confesses, downing his drink before pouring another shakily. “I’m still in love with another. I think you know who.”

I close my eyes. My wife. My eyes open again and I finally realise that Bash nor Kenna wear their wedding rings, not since their wedding day. I’ve never paid their hands much notice but it’s extra prominent right now after his admission. I wonder if it was Kenna’s decision, being so hurt and scorned for not being her husband’s heart’s desire.

“She told me that she’d give me time,” Bash continues on. “That she understood why I am so reluctant in our marriage. After Father’s birthday, she said that she would prefer it if we kept separate rooms, separate beds, separate mealtimes, separate  _ lives _ … permanently. Or until I can let her in.” He sounds so angry and I can see the resentment he has for our father rising up again. “She told me that she wouldn’t mind if I saw other women.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him quietly. “I’m sure she’s just trying to cater to your needs. If you don’t exactly find her attractive or want her in the way she needs you to want her, you can’t exactly be upset, right?”

He smiles bitterly as he looks out of the window to check the weather. “I am upset,” he says tightly. “But not for  _ us _ .” He looks down into his drink. “But for our children. And what that means when her dreams of wanting our kids to be born to two loving parents who are  _ together _ are shattered. I want that too. I never had that. I don’t have full-siblings or a photo where both Maman and Father were in it with me. Because Father hid Maman like a dirty, little secret and Maman was just as neglectful and I never wanted that for my kids. It’s unfair, history repeating itself, two unhappy people with unhappy children.”

My heart breaks for them, it does really. I’ve got my fairytale with Mary and their burning flames are being put out for their joint grief over unrequited love. “Do you want some advice?” I ask, wincing a little.

He turns to face me. “Please enlighten me,” he almost begs me as if I hold all of the answers to their suffering. I don’t.

“Kenna has always been in love with you,” I tell him and he nods dismissively as if he’s already known that for ages. “You’re going to lose her before you even have her, Sebastian. She’s sacrificed a lot and I don’t think a woman as strong as Kenna can bear what you’ve put upon her. All of the shame and disappointment… I respect her, I do. I see her pretending and smiling falsely, I’ve witnessed that firsthand at your wedding. She has such an advantageous marriage, yet it’s destroying her, and she’s slowly going to realise that it’s not worth it, losing her mind. For a man who doesn’t glance at her even once.”

Bash sinks down onto a seat by the window and slowly sips his drink. “What do I do?” He breathes out. “I don’t want to hurt her. And I have many times already but I want a fresh start. I just don’t want to be hated by another person… or lose my chance at having the family I’ve always wanted,” he bows his head, “always dreamed about.”

“I don’t know, Bash,” I say honestly. “Why don’t you show her that there is a chance you can have the family, the marriage, the  _ life _ you both want? All the things you imagined with Mary, replace her with Kenna. And  _ try _ . ”

“Yeah,” Bash replies with a nod before we fall into silence.

* * *

At almost ten at night, Bash knocks softly on Kenna’s door. When he’s met with no response, he attempts again but soon, the housekeeper arrives and informs him that she last saw Kenna heading towards the kitchen for a late-night snack. She hasn’t been eating lately so Bash isn’t surprised. The morning sickness is terrible for her and he’s sympathetic to what she’s going through. He wishes he could share some of the burdens, considering she’s eating for three.

He finds her on the phone and just before he heads inside to make his presence known, he hears her tell whoever is on the line, “...he’s really good to me, Mummy. I’m really happy, and our marriage is everything I expected it to be.” She laughs softly but Bash can hear the tears in them and the sadness of her laugh. “Yeah, he’s excited. Like, he’s at my beck and call, every minute. I’m actually having a couple of minutes of reprieve from him. He’s a bloodhound.” He steps closer but keeps his presence hidden as he sees her run her fingers through her hair before picking at her salad. “I miss you, Mum. I should visit soon… No, nothing’s wrong, I just want to go home for a bit. It’s been ages since I’ve breathed Scottish air… Mum, there is  _ nothing _ wrong. I’m happy, I’m with the most caring and wonderful man in the world, my house is bigger than perhaps Buckingham Palace. I miss everyone, that’s all. I miss being home.” After a while she says her ‘goodnight’ to her mother and hangs up, sniffling before blowing her nose into a tissue.

Tentatively, Bash steps into the kitchen and she tenses up, turning until she sighs in relief when it’s him. But she still looks tense as she starts packing her salad and things up. “Hi-”

“I’ll get out of your way,” she mutters, heading to the food bin to dispose of the rest of her salad.

“That looked very unappealing.”

“It’s better than the chocolate cake I was eyeing up,” she says lightly, putting the plate in the dishwasher and heading to the table to grab her phone and tissues. “Goodnight-”

“Are you hungry?”

She shakes her head but her stomach grumbles. “That defeated that purpose.”

He chuckles and heads to the cupboards, pulling out flour and sugar. “Do you and the babies want something better than salad?”

“I’m supposed to be eating healthily. I’ve got a whole meal-plan-”

“Which you’ve not been following because you’ve been throwing up constantly,” he cuts her off knowingly. “I’ll make you some pancakes. I’ll put Oreos and chocolate and,” he takes his voice down to a whisper, “lots of cream.”

Kenna smiles and takes a seat. “I’m waiting,” she tells him much to his delight.

Halfway through, he suggests her having a turn at flipping a pancake and she obliges, grabbing the frying pan with both hands and attempting to flip the pancake. She fails multiple times and Bash carefully guides her with his arms around her. Slowly, he shows her how to flip the pancake, his hands on hers and she swallows hard, feeling his breath on her cheek as she finally flips the pancake with his aid.

“I did it!” She laughs, turning to him happily. She feels him let go of her and she misses his warmth but pushes those feelings down. He’s not hers, he will never be hers. She has to let him go. 

Her smile dissipates a little as Bash hands her a plate to serve the pancake. She watches as his strong arms control the bowl and mix the melted chocolate and she turns away, going to pour more batter into the frying pan. 

She sticks Oreo and chocolate pieces into the circular shape she’s made in the frying pan and adds some more batter to cover the pieces up. She then heads to grab the whipped cream from the fridge and places it on the counter, waiting for the moment she can flip the pancake.

“So, Mary’s baby shower is soon,” she brings up, taking a chocolate piece and stuffing it into her mouth.

“Will it be full of peacocks and cherub ice sculptures after all?” Bash asks.

She snorts. “Maybe,” she drawls. “It made me think about whether or not I should have a baby shower.”

“You should.”

“Maybe a sprinkle,” she replies. “With only the girls. I want something lowkey.”

“You? Lowkey?” Bash asks, helping her flip the pancake as it starts to burn and she’s too busy picking chocolate pieces. “Don’t you like grand parties and balls?”

Kenna shrugs. “For other people. In all honesty, I wouldn’t mind something small and quiet. This… well, this pregnancy is not as easy as I thought it would be. I’m in the bathroom every other minute, I ache everywhere. I always thought it would be wonderful and breezy. It’s anything but.” She seems upset about it, and Bash glances at her briefly, turning back to the pancake. She then plants a smile on her face and rolls her eyes. “Then again, when is carrying a whole baby easy? I doubt two babies would be easier.”

“They’re done,” Bash says, referring to the pancakes. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring you a plate?”

Kenna does as told, grabbing the whipped cream on her way to the table. Before she knows it, she’s gone through five pancakes and is eating her sixth, squeezing more whipped cream onto the pancake.

“We should do this more,” Bash says.

“What?” Kenna asks, eyeing his second pancake hungrily.

He laughs, shoving the plate her way before watching her slap the pancake on top of her whipped creamed one and devouring them. “Late night cooking sessions.”

Pausing to wipe her mouth with a napkin, she looks up and nods. “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

“I’d like that too,” he replies quietly, starting to eat his lone pancake as they settle into polite conversation.

* * *

_ Saturday 20th April _

“I’m going to miss you,” I tell my wife as she gets ready for her baby shower. She looks at me through her vanity mirror as she puts her earrings on, a coy smile on her face. “What is it?”

“I’m leaving my big baby all alone at home,” she coos, making me scowl. 

Everyone is away on Service and Bash is visiting his mother in Spain since there are some unresolved issues I don’t know about between Diane and him so she’s in a mood. I could spend time with my sisters, but they are going to the baby shower along with almost all of the women in the family. That leaves my little brothers. 

“Charlie, Henny and Loulou are very reserved boys,” I say. “I asked them if they wished to do something today and all I got from Charlie was a grunt.”

Mary chuckles. “You’re learning already,” she chirps. “He’s 17, Francis. What did you like when you were 17?”

“I don’t know, Sports?” I offer her, and she rolls her eyes. “What?”

“Girls!”

“Mary!” I cry out. “I am not talking to my little brothers about sex. They have tutors for that.”

She cackles, turning on her seat. “God, no. I just mean, be interested in their personal lives. You’re King, you’ve not been exactly present enough to spend time with them. Even before the crown. Get to know them better. Take them out for joy rides around the chateau!”

“This isn’t the sixties, Mary,” I reply lightly, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. “You look ravishing.”

She’s wearing a baby pink dress that flows over her baby bump beautifully. On her feet are a pair of baby blue courts which she’s already thinking of replacing with some flats. “I feel terrible.”

“Well, I don’t know about that because I’m looking at an angel,” I say, meeting her lips for a deep kiss before we’re disturbed by the knock on the door.

“Your Majesty,” Greer sings. “It’s time to go!”

I groan, rubbing her bump. “I have to let you-” I gasp, feeling something kick against my hand and we both look at each other in shock. Tears spring to my eyes and I sink down to my knees, staring at the bump in awe. “Hi… Hi, baby. It’s your papa. Are you going to miss me too?” I receive another kick which sets Mary off. “Cherie, don’t cry.”

She laughs through her tears, wiping them off. “It’s the first time you’ve properly felt it,” she sobs out. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whisper, kissing her one last time before getting up and helping her up too. “Go and have fun. Not too much fun, mind.”

Mary giggles, nodding as she continues drying her eyes and cheeks. “And have a little patience with your brothers. You might pick up a few things for our own baby,” she tells me before leaving our dressing room.

I end up deciding to take the boys out to the lake for some good old fishing like we did for Father’s birthday. It’s a peaceful thing to do and we trek down the riverbank, looking for the perfect spot to settle down. As we walk, I hear Charlie and Henny talking about how hot it is and Louis is already bemoaning that he feels bored. He’s 11, I can’t blame him.

“You spend time with us one-on-one for the first time in ages and you decide fishing is the way to go on a day that it’s rained?” Henny asks, displeased when his shoes get mud on them. “These were new!”

“What fifteen-year-old cares about a little mud?” I reply. He didn’t seem to care about mud on Father’s birthday.

“One who hates rain,” Henny retorts. “God, Francis, seriously?  _ Fishing on a rainy day _ ?”

I roll my eyes hard and stop, dropping everything and setting up my chair as they do the same with theirs. “I asked you all what you wanted to do and you gave me unusable answers. Charles, a grunt isn’t an answer.”

Charlie sits down on his seat and pulls his hat over his face, seemingly falling into a nap. When Henny kicks him, he blindly grabs a fishing rod and hits Henny with it, the younger brother turning to me in shock.

“What did you expect?” I ask him, chuckling as I prepare a rod. “Come here, Loulou.”

Louis’ eyes widen when he hears me call him that and he tentatively joins my side. “Yes?”

“Here,” I say, giving him a rod and grabbing the worm bucket. “Put it through the hook.”

He gags and shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Louis, at one point in your life, you will join the Army and trust me, there are worse things to do there than putting a live worm through a hook,” I tell him.

His shoulders sag and he inserts the worm onto the hook. “There.”

“Good,” I say, directing him to the lake and standing behind him as I guide his hands. “Do you know how to fish?”

He shakes his head. He didn’t really get a chance to at Father’s birthday. We older boys did more and he merely sat about watching the wildlife and taking pictures. “Never really learnt from you or Father. Nor did Monsieur Papillon teach me.” Papillon, my former tutor and their current one. He’s a strict man but does enjoy a few extracurricular hobbies whenever we have him for the weekend. Despite being a keen fisherman who taught me, he doesn’t seem all that willing to teach the rest of the boys. I guess being heir to the throne back then was a virtue. “Am I doing it right?”

“Here, I’ll show you,” I tell him, helping him out. It intrigues Henny and Charlie who come down to take a look for themselves and soon, Louis has caught something with a little bite. “Charlie, get the icebox!”

Charlie hurries to retrieve the icebox and opens it up as I help Louis wind the rod. We all witness the wriggling fish at the end of the fishing hook and once we’ve got it closer, I bring the wire close to detach the fish from the hook and put it in the box.

“Congratulations, Louis. You’ve just caught your first fish,” I tell him before the other boys gasp and go and grab their own rods since the water seems very active today.

“Show us, too!” Henny cries out as Charlie bumps him off to get his rod first.

I chuckle at their reaction, giving my youngest brother a high-five. It’s like they’ve never fished before in their lives but I guess they struggled a bit and now with my step-by-step guiding, they can grab more information to help them. 

This isn’t so bad after all, teaching them as time goes on. Throughout the fishing session, I bond with my brothers, learning more about Charlie’s girlfriend who attends his school.

“So, what  _ is _ her name, Charlie?” I ask him as Henny keeps nudging his shoulder.

Charlie blushes, looking away to focus on casting his rod. After a while, he says, “Her name’s Lisa.” He then has this stupid smile on his face. “She doesn’t know French that well. She’s got caramel-coloured hair, she’s slim, flawless and sporty. She has eight siblings so we both bonded on that fact. Being surrounded by many siblings. She’s interesting.”

I sit back in my seat, staring at my brother fondly. I can remember being his age and memorising all that there was to Mary’s appearance and personality. 

“She’s quite demure and naïve because she was homeschooled back in Austria. Her family had to move because of her father’s job in Pharmaceuticals. So they are quite loaded,” Charlie informs me. “She’s very religious too. Catholic, like us. Now, I’m, uh, teaching her French.”

“Wonderful,” I say. “So, she’s not of noble status?”

He shakes his head. “No, she’s not,” he says, his voice wavering. “Is that bad? Should, uh, anything serious happen between us?”

From the corner of my eye, Henny leads Louis further down the bank to see if any fish are biting there and I mentally thank him for giving Charlie the privacy he needs to get his answers. Every match of marital means must have some sort of high status on both parties. Mary is a daughter of a duke, Leeza’s future husband is a duke-in-waiting and so is Margot’s future husband who is an earl-in-waiting. Claude, well she’s going to be engaged to Narcisse’s son eventually and they are of noble birth too.

“Do you love her?” I ask him.

Charlie shrugs. “I’ve been with her for a good year now.”

“A whole year,” I reply, confused. I had believed that this was a new thing.

“We kept it a secret,” he explains quietly. “I didn’t want her to be harshly judged because she doesn’t understand French fully but we communicate in German. Everyone ignores her at school, she hates it. Being foreign and unable to speak the common tongue. I thought you wouldn’t allow a relationship between us if you knew more about her because Mother said they must always know some sort of French and be of class.”

“I’m not Mother.”

“I know,” Charlie tells me shakily. “But…  _ you’re  _ the law.” His shoulders sag and he sighs heavily. “She’s not the prettiest so I  _ know _ if anything were to happen between us in the sense of marriage, the public will judge her harshly and she might not cope.”

I sit forward in my seat, slipping my sunglasses to rest on top of my head. “Invite her here. She must have dinner with Mary and me, tomorrow.”

Charlie’s eyes almost pop out as he splutters and shakes his head. “She’ll have heart failure! Being summoned for dinner with the King and Queen of France, are you mad?! Well, you’re not mad but-”

“Charlie, calm down,” I laugh. “We won’t be the King and Queen, we’ll be your older brother and sister-in-law, wanting to get to know the girl you love better.”

Charlie blinks in surprise and nods a little. “Oh-kay. She doesn’t know French well-”

“You said. If she’s comfortable, we’ll speak to her in whichever language she wishes,” I tell him and he grins.

“Really?”

“What does she know?”

“German, Spanish, Latin and Italian,” he quickly replies much to my amusement.

I nod once. “She’s Austrian, right?” I ask and he nods. “Then German it is. I might even see if she can flatter us in Italian.”

Charlie scowls at that but his scowl leaves his face when something bites at the hook of his rod. “I got one!”

“Rein it in,” I tell him before waving Henny and Loulou over.

* * *

_ Sunday 21st April _

“Y-Your Majesties!”

I almost jump at Lisa’s excitement as she curtseys quickly and turns to Charlie with a big grin on her face. I share a look with my wife before a smile grows on my face when we see Charlie staring lovingly back at her. 

“You must be Lisa,” I say.

“E-Elisabeth, Your Majesty,” she says, curtseying again.

“Just like our sister,” I say, making her smile even widely. “I’m sure you will make good friends with our sisters and my wife, of course.”

Lisa nods and curtseys again. “Yes, Your Majesty!”

My brow raises and I gently coax her back up. “You don’t have to do that every time you reply,” I tell her as she laughs nervously and shies away behind Charlie a little. God, she’s adorable, like a puppy and from my wife’s face, she’s thinking the same. “Right this way, Frauline.”

She and Charlie follow Mary and me to the private dining room. Every so often, I turn around and hear her questioning Charlie about all of the art pieces and family portraits on the wall amongst former rulers of France. She’s so fascinated about everything, she might just explode but I can see the nerves in her eyes and she questions Charlie in her native tongue about being scared she won’t be able to understand a word I say since she knows neither English nor French that well.

“Er kann Deutsch sprechen, Schatz,” he whispers into her ear and she sighs in relief before frowning once more. “Was ist es?”

She replies with something about embarrassing herself for not knowing French and Charlie is quick to comfort her. They will make a wonderful couple, I conclude.

“Thank you for having me,” Lisa says as we take seats at the table, servers laying out napkins for us. “I enjoy it here.” She turns to Charlie. “Did I get it right?”

He chuckles, kissing her cheek. “Oui, my sweetheart.”

Lisa beams and nods, looking down at our first-course meal. Her smile leaves her face and I bite back a smirk. I couldn’t invite a potential spouse for my brother without testing her, could I? “Was ist das?” She asks, pointing at the snails on her plate.

“These are,” I begin, eating one from my plate much to her horror. “Escargot. Er, Schnecken. Or snails.”

She covers her mouth, turning to Charlie with eyes wide. “Meine Liebe, Schnecken?!” She cries out.

Charlie turns, glaring at me a little. “It’s a well-loved French dish,” he says helplessly. “Is there anything else Lisa can eat, Your Majesty?” He asks that in such a tight voice and I chuckle, culling the servers to remove the plates. That’s when my brother realises that it was a little test. She passed. Most girls would pretend and probably throw it all up in a plant pot somewhere or even hide them in their napkins. The tales Aunt Charlotte gave me about her failed suitors.

When we’re served with lobster and crab, Lisa sighs in relief, laughing a little for overreacting earlier as she apologises profusely. I immediately wave her apologies off, stating that not everyone can stomach snails anyway.

By the time we’re on our fifth meal, we have learnt so much about Lisa. She’s a wonderful girl, a month younger than Charlie and she’s smitten with him. She hangs onto his every word, seldom correcting a few misspoken German words to which he does with her French words that Mary and I coach her through during the dinner. She’s so open to criticism and takes to speak a little French wonderfully, thanking the chef and servers in French when we’re finished with each meal. Her pronunciations still need work on, but even if she didn’t know any French or English, we would all still be able to communicate with her, being fluent in other languages she knows too.

After we eat dessert, we invite Lisa to the music room. She’s a pianist and Charlie insists on having her play a piece for Mary and me as a ‘thank you for inviting me’ present. We give her a suggestion, Ludwig van Beethoven and she takes a seat before the piano and starts playing ‘Für Elise’.

The best thing is, as she plays, she doesn’t know that other members of the family are drawn to the room, taking seats in silence. Mother is even transfixed as she stares at Lisa’s expert fingers play the melody. Even Leeza’s breath is taken away and she gives Charlie a nudge of the shoulder as Margot ruffles his hair. By the time she’s done, she yelps at her grown audience, eyes growing wide as what seems to be her anxiety spikes up.

“Ch-Char-”

“If everyone can empty the room now, please? Thank you,” I say and everyone leaves, my mother giving Lisa one lasting glance before she disappears. I turn to the girl. “I apologise for that. You could be Beethoven himself.”

Lisa bows her head and smiles a little. “Yes. I apologise.”

“What for?” Mary asks, going over and taking Lisa’s hands in hers. “You played beautifully, you’ve got the whole family in love with you!”

Lisa pales in surprise. “What?”

“Yes,” Charlie chuckles into her ear. “They love you.”

“They say nothing-” She starts.

“You made them fall in love with music,” I tell her. “Music and art are… much respected in this family.”

Charlie translates quickly, finishing with, ”He’s praising you. They all are.” He turns back to me, hope in his eyes. I give him the nod and he sighs in relief. One day, Lisa will be part of the family. But for now, they should enjoy their young love.

Later in the night, as we get ready for bed, Mary rubs her bump in thought. I lightly smack her with a pillow, her eyes drawing over to me with a slightly bewildered look. 

“Your head will explode if you think too hard,” I tell her.

Mary chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I’m just thinking.” She sighs. “When our child will be like that.”

“Like what?” I ask, getting into bed beside her and laying on my side, a hand on top of her hands over her bump. 

She smiles warmly, rubbing my hand as her fingers play with my wedding band. “Introduce their boyfriend or girlfriend to the family. They don’t have to be of noble birth, do they? Lisa’s dad’s a Pharmaceuticals rep and they have money. Even though they’re Austrian, they still have a chance, right?”

“Our child can love whoever they want,” I tell my wife. “Noble birth or not. As for Lisa and Charlie, I’ve already given Charlie my blessing. Whenever he’s ready to marry, I hope it will be to Lisa. She’s perfect for him.”

“She reminds me of you,” Mary says, making me scoff lightly. “She does! Overexcited puppy whenever it comes to their boyfriend or girlfriend. So in love, it makes other people sick.”

I laugh at that and nod guiltily. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” she breathes out, giving me a soft kiss. “Never.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter’s major characters’ details (in order of ‘screen time’) (French-stylisation):  
> ~François (Francis) IV Simon Léon Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 6th October 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: His Majesty, King of France & The Son of France  
> ~Marie Joséphine Rebecca Stuart-de Guise-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 15th December 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Majesty, Queen of France & The Daughter of France  
> ~Sébastien Laurent Daniel Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 29th July 1989. Age (by the end of the chapter): 23. Titles: His Grace, Sebastian Valois-Angoulême, Duc d'Orléans  
> ~Henri VI Christophe Pierre Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 31st March 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 47. Titles: His Royal Majesty, King Father, Henri Valois  
> ~Mckenna Marie Rachel Ross Beaton-Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 5th November 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Grace, Mckenna Beaton, Duchesse d’Orléans  
> ~Élisabeth Isabella Catherine Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 21. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Elisabeth, Duchesse de Brittany  
> ~Marguerite Michelle Valentina Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 21. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, Duchesse de Berry  
> ~Claude Leona Annette Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 12th November 1992. Age (by the end of the chapter): 20. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Claude, Duchesse de Lorraine  
> ~Charles Maximilien Pierre Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 27th June 1995. Age (by the end of the chapter): 17. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Charles, Duc de Touraine  
> ~Henri Christophe Jr Arthur Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 19th September 1997. Age (by the end of the chapter): 15. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Henri, Duc d’Alençon  
> ~Louis Valentin Hercule Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 3rd February 2002. Age (by the end of the chapter): 11. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Louis, Duc d’Urbino  
> ~Caterina Isabella Margherita de’ Medici-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 13th April 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 47. Titles: Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mother, Catherine de’ Medici
> 
> The Prime Minister, Stéphane Narcisse, Lola Flemming, Greer Seton-Norwood and Aylee Livingston are minor characters in this chapter.
> 
> Antònio Gallo-Ricci, Philip Habsburg and Henry Navarro are also minor characters. Antonio is Margot’s friend and Henry is her fiancé. Philip is Leeza’s fiancé.


	4. Building & Breaking Tensions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary and Francis attempt to break Mary’s waters as she reaches her due date. Leeza and Philip talk about having children. Margot’s love life gets complicated, and Bash and Kenna reach more strained moments in their marriage and find out more about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly adore Francis and Mary’s relationship. I’m obsessed with them and Tumblr has me liking all of their photos again. Reign has such a wonderful cast that you just have to go and see their other shows to observe what wide ranges they have. I’m so excited that Toby’s been cast as one of my favourite characters in A Discovery of Witches and Adelaide’s playing an older version of Hailey in This Is Us. And we can’t forget the other cast members and their great projects since Reign.

_Monday 10th June 2013_

“It’s officially the law,” the Prime Minister tells me as I smile and we both take sips of our drinks. “The Succession to the Crown Act Law states that regardless of gender, the firstborn child of the King and Queen of France will be the heir apparent. Any siblings following after will be set in the line of succession regardless of their own gender as well.” We clink our glasses. “Now, I know everyone is keeping tight-lipped but surely, Your Majesty, you can tell me if France will one day have a queen on the throne or not.”

I chuckle, shaking my head slightly. “We don’t know,” I tell him much to his surprise. “The Queen and I wish to be surprised. With good reason too. To stop everyone from spilling the beans. The doctors and midwives have been chosen with the most will from submitting to my parents.”

“I can tell they are still not used to this news?” He asks me.

“My parents are… _traditional_.” Mother mostly, Father doesn’t care anymore. “Mother got lucky that I was their firstborn and obviously my half-brother was my father’s firstborn child so there was no denying my father could have sons. The Queen and I are more modern. We’re looking at unconventional scenarios here. Things one who is in a royal family does not normally talk about.”

The Prime Minister tilts his head slightly. “What things, may I ask, Sir?”

I take another sip of my drink. “For years, we’ve mindlessly donated to charities, here and there and everywhere. We have never really _researched_ them for ourselves. Understand why there is a lack of housing leading to increasing cases of homelessness. Or why rape occurs in the City more than in other locations. Or why there is an increase in mental health cases and depression in citizens of France… This leads me to my next request.”

“Yes?”

“Senior, junior or extended royal family members to be able to have jobs,” I say which makes his eyes bulge. “And not them getting jobs because of who they are but their skillset. You know the Queen studied Politics at university?”

“I-I do, Sir.”

“She would like it if she could sit in on one of your briefings when she’s finished with her maternity leave,” I say.

The Prime Minister gulps and nods once. “Yes, of course. We would love to have her.”

“And maybe one day, she’ll be a Member of Parliament, helping to pass laws which truly embody what France means. ‘Liberté, égalité, fraternité’. Or ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’ if you will. Perhaps make France the happiest country in the world,” I say thoughtfully to which I finish my drink. “What do you say?”

“I will have to speak to the rest of the-”

“You do that,” I cut him off, standing as he also does. “And get back to me. I would expect it to be good news.”

The Prime Minister nods and bows before he leaves our briefing meeting. I leave the room myself through the other door and make my way to one of the private living rooms, greeting our guests for the day. Julien, Margot and Leeza.

“Thank you all for coming,” I say. “Mary and I asked you all here today as we get closer to meeting our little one…” We share a smile, my hand going to her large, round bump. “To…”

“Be the godparents,” Mary finishes, my sisters gasping with excitement. “We thought long and hard and decided that when we have the christening, you three will be our baby’s godparents.”

Margot is the first to hug us both. “God, I can’t wait to see what Claude will do when she finds out! She’ll murder us, truly,” she says, kissing Mary’s cheeks as Leeza kisses mine and I shake hands with Julien. “Thank you for the honour.”

“Thank you so much,” Leeza says happily. “I won’t disappoint you nor your baby.” She grins, even more, when Mary pulls her hand to feel our baby kick, Margot’s hand joining Leeza’s. “We’re all quite excited. Any day now!”

“Yes,” Mary says. “We’re looking to induce my labour if nothing happens within these next couple of weeks.”

Julien claps my shoulder. “I can’t wait to have children myself. I’m almost compelled to bring the wedding date up,” he says, making us chuckle. “I doubt Lola would like that. You know what she’s like. She wants the dress to be perfect. We want every single thing to be perfect.”

“And it will,” I tell him. “Don’t stress out although there is nothing wrong with being a groomzilla,” I say, receiving a glare from Julien as the girls share cheeky grins. “ I was one, remember? You’ll be fine, Jules.”

He rolls his eyes and heads for the drinks. “Cognac to celebrate with a cordial for Her Majesty?”

“Go on then,” Mary says as Leeza goes over to help him. Mary shares a smile with me as I place a hand on her bump. 

The child’s second godfather will be Mary’s half-brother, James. We have already called him this morning and he was thrilled to be an option. Originally, I had thought of having James and Bash as the child’s godfathers but I didn’t want to want to put too much strain on Bash and his delicate marriage. It’s one thing being the godfather of your brother’s child, but it is another being godfather to your ex-fiancée’s child and I don’t want to add more fuel to the fire between him and Kenna despite their growing friendship. 

Although, when Mary and I have a second child, I hope things would have died down by then so we can have them both be that child’s godparents. But for now, I’ve stopped any civil wars by choosing mutual options in my sisters, engaged close friend and my brother-in-law. 

“Hey, stop daydreaming and take this glass from me,” Leeza orders and I playfully roll my eyes as I grab the drink. “To Mary, Francis and Baby Valois!”

“To Mary, Francis and Baby Valois,” the other two chorus as Mary and I share an elated grin.

* * *

_Tuesday 11th June_

“You’ll need to go,” Margot mumbles as she feels lips press against her skin, inching towards her neck. “Antonio!”

Antonio chuckles, nuzzling his nose against her neck. “I see different offers every day but you, Your Royal Highness are the best one.”

Margot turns and gives him a small smile, running her fingers through his hair. “Why, thank you, for the compliment,” she says with a sigh, “but my fiancé-to-be is arriving at any moment and I don’t want my parents asking why I’ve got a naked man in my bed.”

“Very well,” Antonio says, getting out of her bed and grabbing his trousers. “Is he as sexy as me? This fiancé of yours?”

Margot snorts and rolls her eyes as she sits up. “No, and we’re not engaged yet. I doubt we will be for another two years or so.”

“So, that’s two more years of us,” he licks his bottom lip and gets back on the bed on all fours to kiss her, “having fun?”

Margot grins. “Sure,” she says.

Before she knows it, she’s heading downstairs in a lovely summer dress to meet her parents, fiancé-to-be and his parents in one of the formal sitting rooms. They are at Versailles, not wanting to disturb Francis and Mary at Fontainebleau and Margot wishes she could escape to Berry to drink Sangria wines, read books and spend hours in bed with Antonio.

But she can’t because she’s the King’s sister who needs to make this marriage work to his advantage.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Marguerite, the Duchesse de Berry,” the herald says when she enters the room. “Present in the room, for the Princess’ knowledge,” he sends her a quick wink and she smiles inwardly because she’s forgetful, “the Earl and Countess of Ávila, Santiago and Marcia, and their son, Viscount Henry Navarro.”

The trio bow or curtsey at Margot as she curtseys too in response. Her father gestures for them to all take seats and she takes her place beside Henry Navarro on the settee that he is on. She shares a quick, friendly smile with him, thinking that he doesn’t have the flair nor the attractiveness that Antonio has. It’s not his fault really, Margot knows he was quite the overweight child growing up but despite shedding the weight, his cheeks still have some chubbiness to them and he doesn’t look like he’d stand out in a line of men.

Despite his looks, it’s his personality and smarts that drew her parents into selecting him as a choice for her. And the fact that he comes with a title when his father either passes on or abdicates it. She will one day be the Countess of Ávila, Countess Navarro if her husband lives long enough to grab the title.

Then again, she doesn’t really want to marry Henry Navarro. He’s a lovely gentleman but she isn’t the one for him after all. She feels awful, she chose him but that was before she met Antonio. 

Sweet, handsome, sexy and thrilling Antonio. Antonio who is coy, cunning and he makes her happy and tingle in all of the right places. Especially her… She coughs a little, blushing as it gains everyone’s attention.

“Is everything alright, dear?” Catherine asks tightly, her eyes warning her daughter.

Margot nods. “Yes, of course. Some air got stuck in my throat. I am quite alright.”

“Are you sure?” Navarro asks. “I could pour you a glass of water?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you,” Margot replies as he hurries to prepare her a glass. She accepts it gratefully and gulps half down, forgetting her manners at slow-sipping drinks. 

Just as expected, it mortifies her parents _and_ his but Navarro chuckles and cautiously places a hand near her thigh, in between them. “I would have done the same. When you need it, you just do.”

“Hmm,” the Countess hums warily at her son’s response. “Your parents have been telling us how accomplished you are in your studies, Your Highness.”

“I take my education very seriously,” Margot replies. “I will be graduating soon. Biology has always enthused me. Tell me, Hen-”

“ _Ree_.”

“ _Ree_ ,” she corrects herself tightly. “Do you know anything about Biology?”

“Actually, I do,” he says happily. “I am a Biologist at Madrid City University.”

Margot’s brows raise. She never knew how much of a match he was for her. Or maybe her parents had a hand, to make their marriage work successfully. “Oh.”

“You must show her around one day!” Henry tells him. “Marguerite adores all things Biology. She could tell you all about the human body a thousand times over and not get bored. Right, darling?”

“Oui, Father,” Margot mumbles, her eyes flickering downwards. “Ree, I’d love that.”

Henry claps his hands. “Great. We will have the family jet take you to Spain this weekend. It will give you two some privacy to get to know each other better.”

“I can’t wait, Your Royal Majesties,” Navarro says kindly, making her parents swoon. As if they can love him even more. “Is it alright if Marguerite and I became more familiar? As she calls me ‘Ree’, is it-”

“Her loved ones call her ‘Margot’,” Catherine cuts him off. “And you shall too.”

Margot almost glares at her mother but she holds her tongue, gives Ree a smile and nod. “Very well. I’d like it if you called me ‘Margot’, Ree.”

“Wonderful!” Is her mother’s reply before tea is offered to the party gathered.

* * *

_Wednesday 12th June_

“Francis, if you’re going to kill me, hurry up.”

I roll my eyes as I lead my wife blindly to the nursery. She’s seen the nursery many times before, especially during her guided tour around to get her used to the place. Before the renovations that I had done right under her nose, the nursery was how it was like when my siblings were little. I never had a nursery here as I was old enough for my own big boy bedroom by the time my father took to the throne. 

When I went to see the nursery, the creams and golds were too outdated and I had hated breaking my mother’s heart by tearing down her hard work but I had to make it fit for my and Mary’s child. This was a new generation, a better one.

The room seems less stuffy, more modern with the soft greys and pigeon blue shades for the curtains, bedding and fabric chairs. For the wood furniture, I went with white woods, handcrafted and the crib even has my and Mary’s initials etched onto it with a small nook for a small Bible to protect our child.

The mobile is of sparkly stars and moons, all colour silver and hanging right down from the high ceiling to the crib and it even plays a tune - ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’. It’s fit for a normal child, a much cherished and loved child. Despite having the weight of being my heir as a burden, I swear to always treat my child with the attention and care I lacked growing up. After Father became the king, he was very distant and I found myself missing and craving the paternal figure in my life. I have had a few help from men like Narcisse and Harold de la Tour but they weren’t my father. No one could replace him. No one _can_.

“Wait here,” I whisper into my wife’s ear before closing the door behind us and turning off the lights. I return to her side and finger the blindfold around her eyes. “Are you ready?”

Mary nods. “I am.”

Removing the blindfold, her eyes adjust to take in the room and she gasps at the low lighting, the mobile and fairy lights sparkling warm yellow light into the room. She turns to me, speechless as tears spring to her eyes and she grins happily.

“Francis, is this for our baby?” She asks, her voice breaking.

“Yes, of course. Who else would it be for?” I ask, amused as I press a kiss on the side of her head.

She sniffles, removing tears from her eyes as she takes everything in some more. “It’s beautiful!”

She heads to the crib first, excitedly telling me how much she adores it. She even loves the fact that I’ve stocked up on nappies, baby soap and other baby products. I want us to be as prepared as possible because the baby is due any day now.

“What about clothes? We don’t even know what we’re having!” Mary breathes out, running her fingers through her hair.

I lead her towards the bespoke, white wood wardrobe and open it to reveal a bunch of gender-neutral baby clothing organised by age size regarding months. We may even donate the stuff we do not use because we don’t exactly know how big our baby is. There are small babies, bigger babies and really big babies but we do not know how big ours would be. There are small, cute booties and everything. We can always buy more gender-specific things later because I’m sure if we have a daughter, her many aunts would love to buy her ribbons and bows for her hair.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be prepared for our baby?” I ask her with a wide grin as she stares at me in awe.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

I ponder the thought before shaking my head. “Nope.”

She snorts, coming up to me and bringing my head down for a deep kiss. Her eyes flicker open and meet mine as she says, “I love you so much and I can’t wait to meet our little one and be a proper family.”

We’ve wanted this moment since we were five. This is eighteen years in the making, the dreams of having this woman, who used to be the girl with the red ribbon pigtails and dress, in my life forever.

“I love you,” I begin, placing a hand on her bump, ”and our baby so much too. You are all I need and will ever want. You are my forever.”

Mary’s eyes water and she forces her lips against mine hungrily, turned on by my words and I chuckle against her lips when she shoves me against the wardrobe. I thank God that we decided to drill it onto the floor to make sure that it wouldn’t topple over by the time the baby started crawling and walking. Every caution, me and my team took to maintain the safest space for the future heir to the throne.

“Settee, now,” Mary orders me, deciding to pull me over anyway and push me onto the lush seat. She gets on top, scowling when her bump gets in the way but she quickly puts that off and leans down for another heated kiss, leaving me stunned.

I am further stunned by her ripping my shirt open and just before I tell her that what happens if we head to our bedroom and people catch me shirtless, she kisses me hungrily again. I immediately forget about my ruined shirt and focus on my wife’s body as she has her way with me.

* * *

_Thursday 13th June_

“...that will be it for the semester. Your exams begin at the end of the month,” Claude’s lecturer announces, dismissing her class.

As she gets her secretary to pack her textbooks, notebooks and other items up, she busies herself with her phone and texting her friends and a few of her siblings. She makes a promise to visit the younger twins next weekend and Leeza’s suggested a spa day with a few friends of theirs. She accepts the invite knowing it would be more testing than socialising. Leeza will need some good ladies-in-waiting for when she moves to Spain with Philip.

“We’re finished here, Your Highness,” her secretary announces.

Claude stands up from her seat, gives her male lecturer a sultry smile to which he rolls his eyes in response to when she passes by him. She’s had her fun with him months back, the poor married man. Her parents don’t know the basics of her secret life away from the public and royal eyes.

“Princess Claude!”

Stopping in her tracks in the hallway, Claude slowly turns with her lips pursed. Her eyes land on Narcisse’s second son, Luca or _Luc,_ as he prefers. He’s a cocky bit of a man, even his brother is worse but the Narcisse boys have always been known for their cockiness and backhanded comments regarding their positions at Court. 

“What do you want?” Claude snaps. 

“Oh, I thought we were hubby and wifey-to-be?” He asks with a slight pout, reaching forward to tuck a curly lock of her hair behind her ear. “There are those pretty eyes I love staring into.”

“Oh, you can fuck right off,” Claude hisses, about to leave but he stops her. “What, Narcisse?”

“That’s my father,” he snaps, his cheeks reddening when she grins in reply. He’s always hated that, being referred to as his father, he knows who his father is and how close their family is to the Royal Family of France. “We’re going to have to be friends, you know? Since we’ll get married in a good few years.”

Claude snorts and rolls her eyes. “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than be friends with you.”

Looking around, Luc quickly grabs her hand and pulls her into what seems like a supply closet. Her secretary squeals with displeasure from outside but he presses his back against the door to prevent Claude from leaving and the other woman from entering.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I can have you arrested-”

“Saturday. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I am not going anywhere in the night-”

“Morning.”

“God, no! I wake up at ten on weekends,” Claude says angrily. “And don’t you dare entertain the idea of having a date with _me_. That will never happen!”

“Who says it’s a date?” Luc asks with a smirk. “Or have you forgotten the Annual Summer Polo Games?”

Claude pales at the realisation. He wants her to be his champion. She’ll attach some ribbon or offering to his mallet as some sort of good luck charm. She’s done it a few times, rotating with her sisters back before Francis was married as goodwill between brother and sisters but now, they can wish lovers luck.

“Charles is old enough to play now,” Claude says with a coy grin. “I promised to be his champion.”

“Isn’t your little brother smitten with some Austrian girl?” Luc retorts, brow raised upwards.

“Well-”

“It will earn Brownie points with our parents,” Luc informs her. “So, be my champion.”

Claude glares at him but nods. “We will _never_ be friends,” she tells him. “Or lovers.”

“Sure,” Luc says cockily as he lets her go finally into her relieved secretary’s arms. “Don’t worry, I’ve kissed her up _real good_.”

Claude gags and her secretary leads her away quickly. She can’t believe the nerve of Luc Narcisse. Even his father isn’t that slimy if not at all. Stephane is a lovely man, always supportive of the reigning monarchs and keeps his distance as he’s always rushing about carrying out orders. How his sons differ from him, she’ll never know. Perhaps it’s because their father stays with her family most of the time and they have no maternal figure in their lives since their mother died of cancer when Luc was three and Eduard was eight. That definitely solidified Stephane’s position at Court, his distance between him and his sons growing.

“Let’s get you to the car…” Her secretary mutters. “Then we’ll have a look through your revision.”

Claude doesn’t complain and she knows the woman is relieved of that fact. It’s easy to get Claude to do things when she’s too annoyed about other things. She just can’t believe the nerve of Luc Narcisse!

If murder was legal, he’d definitely be her first victim.

* * *

_Saturday 15th June_

“Did you know that our babies are the size of _medium bananas_?” Bash asks, placing the parenting book on his wife’s lap as she eats. Her appetite has returned and she’s relieved, eating at every possible minute. “That’s not that big.”

Kenna gives him a look and he quickly takes the book off of her grilled cheese sandwiches. “I’m almost 22 weeks gone, Sebastian,” she reminds him. “Wait another ten weeks and then I’ll be the size of a whale, like you want.”

Bash rolls his eyes. “ _You_ won’t be the size of a whale, the babies will-”

“Our babies won’t be fat!” She screeches, placing her hands on her bump as her eyes tear up. “Take that back!”

Bash’s eyes widen and he inwardly groans at the irrational emotions his wife is going through at this stage of her pregnancy. Everything is a tear-filled battle. His hands go to her bump. “Papa takes it back.”

“Good,” Kenna says, sniffling as she whacks his hands away. “Now, go and get me more grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m _starving_.”

“You’ve just had four!”

“And so?! Are you calling me ‘fat’?”

“No.”

“Then go!”

Bash plants a tight smile on and gets off of her bed, leaving the bedroom. As he heads downstairs to the kitchens, he calls Francis and as soon as his brother picks up, he says, “I hate pregnant women.”

 _“Ouch. Pray tell, how do you think you came to be?”_ Francis replies.

“I have _never_ met such an irrational mind in my entire existence. Kenna has eaten the whole place out. The servants are shopping for food every other minute, it’s _hell_!” He checks his watch. “And it’s only six in the morning!”

Francis laughs until he’s gasping for dear life and sighing wistfully. _“Yeah, Mary wouldn’t stop eating during her second trimester. It’s because they were chucking up every other minute during the first semester, it’s only right they make up for it.”_

“I’m her personal slave at this point,” Bash mutters, checking the fridge. “We’re out of cheese. Great.”

_“I’m guessing it won’t be good for you if you’re out?”_

“Yes. She’ll burst into tears and perhaps flames. I’d like to see her spontaneous combust,” Bash jokes. “Honestly though, I’m relieved that the cheese has run out. I’m starting to hate it.”

 _“The joys of pregnancy,”_ Francis muses. _“Guess what?”_

Bash smirks. “What?”

_“The Succession to the Crown Act Law has been rewritten to confirm that if Mary and I have a daughter, she will be queen after me regardless of any brothers that follow.”_

Bash leans against the counter. “Wow, that’s huge. That’s great. Congratulations.”

_“You could sound happier.”_

“I am, Francis, but what’s it got to do with me, right?” Bash replies, shrugging. 

Francis sighs. _“I guess…”_

“No, that was mean. Sorry. I am so happy for you both and... your future daughter?” Bash tries and he hears Francis chuckle evilly.

 _“We don’t even know so how would we tell you?”_ He asks.

“Son of a…” Bash laughs. 

_“What about you? Do you and Kenna know what you’re having?”_

Bash shakes his head. “No. Same idea as you. If we don’t know, no one knows.”

 _“Smart guy,”_ Francis replies. _“Oh! I forgot to tell you, Leeza wants you, me, her fiancé and the other boys to do something.”_

Bash scowls and he looks upwards. “My wife wants me at her beck and call so I doubt I’d be able to leave the damn chateau.”

_“That’s a lie, you just don’t want to go.”_

“Well, Philip’s a bore! Even at school, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than listen to him drone on! How did she fall in love with the guy again?” Bash responds, rolling his eyes. “Kill me. Kill me in regards to my wife and my future brother-in-law.”

Francis laughs. _“Sorry, you’re not getting out of it. Navarro’s coming along. You know-”_

“The guy Margot _isn’t_ fucking?” Bash asks. “And _is_ meant to fuck? Yes, I know him very well. ‘Ree’ or whatever he calls himself. He’s annoying too. I mean, props to him for losing all of that weight and being the swan from the ugly duckling, but… he may be even more boring than Philip with his career as a Biologist!”

 _“We need to make an effort, Bash. Our sisters are marrying the men. They’ll be our brothers through marriage,”_ Francis replies. _“And to be honest, I can’t get through it without you. I’ll drink myself to death and Mary won’t like that.”_

“When are we forced to spend time with ‘boring and boring-er’?” Bash asks with a sigh.

Francis sighs in relief. _“Next week Friday. I’ll have something strong in it for you, don’t worry.”_

“Thank you. I’ve got to go and give my wife the bad news. No cheese, no grilled cheese sandwiches,” Bash says, checking the fridge again.

_“I’ve got to prepare my speech for Polo.”_

Bash shivers. “Good luck with that.”

Francis snorts. _“Yeah, thanks. Bye.”_

“Bye.”

Hanging up, Bash returns upstairs and finds his wife standing in front of her full-length mirror, admiring her bump. Just as he’s about to make his presence known, he hears her say under her breath, “Is Papa right? Are you both little bananas right now?” She turns this way and that, caressing the bump. “Papa’s going to be playing in the Annual Summer Polo Games today. We’re going to be his champions so Mama has to look extra nice.” She then lifts two dresses. “So, blue or yellow?” She gasps when she feels two quickenings. “Yellow, it is!”

Knocking on the door, which is futile because he’s already practically in the room by now, Bash makes himself known and his wife turns to face him. “Bad news.”

“What?” She asks, alarmed as she puts the dresses down.

“We’re out of cheese.”

Kenna breaks out into a relieved chuckle and shakes her head. “In hindsight, four grilled cheese sandwiches are enough,” she tells him as she lifts the yellow dress and heads in the direction of her dressing room. She stops short of the door. “What colour should my favour be?”

Bash shrugs. “Yellow, probably. Matches with your dress.”

She gives him a small smile and nods. “Yellow, it is.” Swallowing, she bites her lip nervously. “You _do_ want me to be your champion, right?”

“You’re my wife,” Bash tells her.

Somehow, that isn’t enough for Kenna and despite promising to give him time to get used to their marriage, she still wants him to _want her_ . _Choose_ her. “Right,” she says, her voice quiet and soft. Then she realises something.

She actually finds herself feeling less strongly for him than before. To her, right now as she turns and heads into her dressing room to get dressed, he’s her first love, but he won’t be her last and she’ll find someone who loves her one day. Who sees her and only her. Who will put her first just as much as she’ll put them first. For now, Bash is a placeholder and she can’t quite wait until the day she finally gets to experience what love feels like.

* * *

“Welcome to the 83rd Annual Summer Polo Games, hosted by the French Equestrian Games Association at Château de Versailles,” I announce. “The Games, this year, have been sponsored by the Habsburg family of Valencia. Let’s extend applause for their graciousness.” Following the applause, I continue with, “Twenty-four fine riders make up the six competing teams today; the King’s Riders, the Queen’s Sapphires, the Silver Foxes, the Bluebirds, the Grey Showers and the Cavaliers. You can obviously tell who _I’m_ bargaining for.” That receives a round of laughter and I smirk. “On the first court, we have the King’s Riders versus the Queen’s Sapphires. On the second court, we have the Silver Foxes versus the Grey Showers and on the third court, we have the Bluebirds versus the Cavaliers. Good luck everyone and let the games begin.”

I applaud as I take my seat beside my heavily pregnant wife. Mary’s about to burst any day now and I keep wondering why on Earth she agrees to still carry out her duties. Bringing her knuckles to my lips, I kiss them hard as she grins and rubs her bump. 

She gasps and I quickly place my hand on her bump where our child digs their foot to try and extract themselves from her womb. It’s quite comical and Mary scowls, lightly scolding our baby for being so brutal inside her.

“I swear, I’m going to be black and blue inside,” she mutters. 

Getting close to her bump, I whisper, “Hi, Baby. If you can stop hurting Maman, I’ll treat you to all of the horse rides when you’re old enough.”

Mary snorts. “Of course they’d listen to you,” she mutters when they stop abusing her insides. "They will be such Daddy's little boy or girl."

"Well, I for one can't wait," I reply, turning my head to view the two first court teams ride up to the stands to collect their favours.

Bash, Charlie, Leith and Julien are on my chosen King's Riders team and Remy, Henry Navarro, Philip and Luc Narcisse are on the Queen's Sapphires team. As the players get closer, their respective champions tie ribbons of different colours just above the wooden cigar-shaped head part of the mallet.

I’m surprised to see Claude tying a ribbon around Luc’s mallet. There’s no love lost between them. 

Finally moving their horses away from the stand, Mary whispers into my ear about the positions of the players. From my knowledge, there are four members on each team, as we can see, and each member has a different number that corresponds to their role. On my selected team, Charlie is Number One because he’s new to the competitive aspect of the game. Number Two’s role falls on Leith as an adept player where Bash is Number Three and the most-skilled player and technical leader and finally, Julien is Number Four, the primary defence.

As the game plays on, Mary’s attention strays to her bump as she experiences pains and aches. She waves my numerous attempts at suggesting that we leave but since this is a highly publicised event, a royal event, our presences are very much needed.

“I’m fine,” she assures me for the hundredth time.

“I could fetch a doctor. He can see you in our rooms,” I whisper back. My mother eyes us suspiciously, leaning slightly away from her vintage binoculars but I send her a charming smile to assure her that all is fine. She humphs in reply and returns her attention to the game.

“Francis, I am fine,” Mary says, gesturing to the field. “Look, you’ve missed your team scoring.”

I don’t care about that, I care about her but she gives me a light glare and I applaud my team’s efforts, courtesy of Bash’s good job well done. Eventually, the first game is over and my team comes out on top, everyone’s scores being finalised to be put on the leadership board. 

Halfway through the day, I finally excuse Mary and me when her breaths become sharp and pain-filled beside me. On our way to our rooms, I have Narcisse fetch her midwife as Mary winces and ‘ahhs’.

Once she’s settled in our bed, the pains seem to have stopped and she sighs heavily in relief, covering her eyes with her forearm. “Oh, that was terrible,” she mutters. “Unbearable.”

“My parents are covering for us,” I inform her. “Get some rest. I’ll have someone bring up water.”

“You don’t think the baby wants to come out _today_?” She asks, eyes wide as she sits up to look at me. “I’m not ready! And today is a big day, especially for you because it’s the first Polo Games you’re hosting as a married man and future father.”

“There will be others,” I say, amused. “I care about you and the baby.”

After an hour, the midwife finally arrives and immediately checks Mary over with a bright smile, “It looks like you’re at the start of your labour.”

Stopping my pacing around our room, my eyes widen. “She’ll have the baby today?”

The midwife shakes her head. “Not necessarily, Your Majesty-”

“Please, call me ‘Francis’,” I tell her.

The midwife nods. “Francis,” she says, “sometimes the first stage of labour progresses over days. Her Majesty is not that dilated.” She then turns to Mary. “Do not worry. The baby is in a good position and the heartbeat is very strong. If you wish to speed up your labour, I can suggest a few ways?”

Mary nods eagerly. “ _Please_ ,” she begs. “I can’t take this any longer.”

I snort, grinning. “I thought you weren’t ready?”

“Try carrying a baby inside you for nine months and come back to me!” Mary snaps. Then she softens. “I’m sorry…”

I chuckle, coming to sit beside her. “Mary, don’t apologise. I love you and our child and whether or not we’re ready or not, I can’t wait to see our baby.”

She smiles and rests her head under my chin as the midwife checks her blood pressure and writes some notes. We’re missing the rest of the matches but I don’t care because I’d never want to be anywhere else but here. Beside my wonderful, strong wife and our baby whom I can’t wait to meet.

This baby’s arrival can’t come any more quickly.

* * *

_Sunday 16th June_

Mary’s labour still hasn’t progressed and that has dampened her mood greatly. She’s irritable, throws things (pillows and other soft items, mostly. _Thankfully_ ) at me and she rejects anything that makes her throw up. I didn’t even know that women felt nausea when they were in the throes of labour.

 _“Mary, dear, calm down,”_ her mother says warily over the phone.

“Mother! My waters haven’t broken. I might be overdue and my baby’s doing somersaults inside me!” Mary cries out, pacing our room.

The midwife did say walking was a good idea. 

I don’t quite know about pacing though.

It is quite scary watching a petite, heavily pregnant and hormonal woman pacing the room as quickly as a spider scatters one.

I love my wife.

_“Mary, this is revenge.”_

“For what?!” Mary cries out.

Her mother cackles. _“Do you know how long I was in labour with you? I think it was at least a week. You just didn’t want to come out and your dad…”_ Marie takes a sharp intake of breath in. _“...he was so excited so went down to the local Indian takeaway and got me the spiciest curry on offer. Next thing I knew, we were saying ‘hello’ to your pruney, pink form.”_

Mary gives me a meek smile and I chuckle. “Urgh, fine. I’ll give this baby a chance but as soon as they are old enough, I’m grounding them for putting me through this.”

“No, you won’t,” I tell her.

“No, I won’t,” Mary admits, blushing as we laugh. “Okay, Mother. I’ll talk to you soon, I love you!”

Marie chuckles warmly. _“I love you too, darling. And good day, Francis.”_

“You too, Marie,” I reply before she hangs up. Going over to my wife, I press a kiss on her forehead and place a hand on her bump. “It’s all part of the experience,” I inform her fondly. “Just wait until we hold our child in our arms.”

Mary beams. “Do you think we’ll have a daughter?”

“Surprisingly, I don’t,” I tell her honestly, starting to rock side to side with her. “I don’t know. I’ve been having dreams about me running after a little boy.”

“Francis?”

I snap out of my reverie and turn to her. “Yes?”

“I’ve had those dreams too. I’m watching you both with a little bundle in my arms and…” She bows her head, blushing. “I thought it was a sign from my dad. Telling me that everything is going to be exactly as I want it to be. That I’d be happy," she looks up at me, "with you and our children. I see us surrounded by many children, regardless of what comes first. And we love them all so much.”

I press a soft kiss on her lips, smiling against them. "We will," I promise.

My mother stops by just then, not bothering to knock as she is flanked by servants carrying different types of food and herbal things. "There they are! The Holy Trinity - Mother," she waves her hand in Mary’s vague direction, "Father," she cups my cheeks, then turns to Mary's bump, " _Son_."

"Maman," I mumble when Mary's eye twitches at the sight of our other intruders.

“Right, when I was pregnant with your husband,” Mother starts, walking towards Mary, “He was a week overdue.”

Mary grins over at me. “Was he?”

“Since then he has _thankfully_ been on time.” Then she probably recalls Father’s birthday meal. “ _Mostly_.” She picks up a bowl of castor oil. “One of my lifesavers.” She grabs a bowl of pineapple. “Another one of my lifesavers. Helped by the time Louis came along.” She scowls. “He had a big head.”

“I’m sure Mary and I can induce her labour ourselves, Maman. But thank you for-”

“If you’re considering sex, then banish it from your thoughts, _Francis_ ,” Mother snaps.

I gape. “Maman!” I cry out. She is so blatant in front of these people surrounding her. “Mary and I will be looking at options. Now, can you clear the room?”

The people leave but Mother stays, crossing her arms. “Francis, what experience of childbirth have you had?”

“Apparently, I took a week to come out,” I say coyly and she glowers at me. “Mother, I promise you. If Mary gets the slightest contraction you will be informed. _But_ we’d like the people in the room to be minimal.”

“Oh! That reminds me,” she says, finally going to the door to leave. “Homebirth or hospital?”

Mary and I share a look before my wife says, “Whichever is the safest.”

“All I had were home births. Surrounded by my familiar things, my favourite people… You should consider the same. If you want, that is.”

Mary nods. “I’ll consider it. Thank you.”

When Mother finally leaves, I turn to my wife and say in exasperation, “She’s insane.”

Mary laughs, rubbing her bump. “Do you hear that, sweetheart? Your Meme Catherine’s insane!”

* * *

_Monday 17th June_

“Maybe I _should_ have a home birth,” Mary muses. It’s literally any day now, like Mary could stop, drop and pop out a baby right now. “It will be safer, considering I’m carrying the heir to the throne. And we wouldn’t have to fork out millions for security precautions at the hospital. And as your mother said, I could be surrounded by loved ones and I could have a peaceful home birth with my husband, my midwife and my doctors.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I mumble tiredly, rubbing her bump as my eyes close. It’s two in the morning and it had been a long day yesterday. We had been mostly trying to induce her labour, I had had lunch with Leeza, Philip and his family before inviting the Prime Minister and his wife over for dinner. I had dined with both parties alone as Mary needed to rest. It is so tiring being a king sometimes.

I don’t realise I’ve fallen asleep until my wife winces sharply and my eyes snap open to see her fast asleep, whimpering. But then she relaxes and sighs in relief, my eyes closing in response to getting back to sleep. False alarm. After what feels like ten minutes, she does it again. The same whimpers but this time, they send her waking up entirely as she hurries to sit up, clutching at her stomach.

“Mary?”

“Oooh, it hurts. Everything hurts,” she breathes out, eyes wide as she turns to me. “Francis, I think…” She trails off and I feel something warm on the bedsheet as I jolt even more awake. “I think my waters just broke.”

I give her a look, pressing the button for my bell blindly as I get on my knees on the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Francis, my waters just broke, I’m having what seems to be contractions and I was enjoying my sleep. So, do you _think_ I’m okay?!” She cries out in exasperation as Harold stumbles in.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” I chuckle, turning to my Chamberlain. “Fetch the Queen’s midwife and doctors. We’re having a baby here.”

Harold’s eyes widen and he hurries back out, shouting orders as I take Mary’s hand and bring it to my lips. I can see the fear in her eyes and she already hates this, I know. Pain isn’t the best thing in the world but I know she is determined to see it through because it means we get our child at the end of it.

I’m already imagining what our baby will look like. Would they have blonde hair or brown hair? Would they have my eyes or Mary’s eyes? Or an entirely different colour overall? My family has green-eyed people, grey-eyed people and even hazel-eyed people as well as the standard blue and brown. 

Mary’s hand squeezes mine. “Be careful,” she says breathily, much to my confusion. “Thinking too hard will give you cross-eyes.”

I laugh and press a kiss on top of her already clammy hair. “You’re so beautiful and strong, do you know that?” I ask her and she rolls her eyes hard. “Whatever we have, they will be perfect.”

She smiles at that and nods, just as Leeza arrives with the message that the midwife along with a couple of doctors will be here in due time. She’s dressed in her pyjamas, having rushed down to check on us. “How is our mama-to-be?” She asks, pecking Mary’s cheek quickly.

“Remembering all that my midwife taught me,” Mary replies tightly. “Th-The breathing stuff.”

“Any pain?” Leeza asks, eyes wide.

“It’s a lot but it’s getting there,” Mary replies before taking a sharp intake of breath. “Definitely getting there.”

Leeza chuckles and heads back to the door. “We are all here to support you.”

My mother quickly enters the room, pushing Leeza aside and hurrying to Mary’s other side. “Now, listen, Mary. When the midwife tells you when you push, you will feel a…” I drown out what my mother says as I study my wife’s face. How she listens intently, nodding every so often with her pink lips opened a little to exhale and inhale when commanded to. She’s a warrior and I press another kiss on her head.

“I’m scared,” she whispers, her eyes finding mine when my mother goes to order for a pitcher of water to be brought up for my wife.

“You’re going to be just fine, Cherie,” I reply, bringing her head to my chest as she closes her eyes. “I promise you.”

* * *

Blonde wisps of hair. Blue-grey eyes. Cute button nose. Eight fingers and two thumbs. Ten toes. Nails less the size of a grain of rice. 7 pounds and 5 ounces. 5:21 AM. Boy.

A boy.

Everything is quiet as Mary and I just stare at this little creature of life moving about on his mother’s chest. His hands and feet are so tiny, so precious and soft, I can’t quite believe he’s finally here. I smile when he starts searching for something in particular before Mary finally helps him out and soon, he’s suckling in content.

“You can hold him after,” my wife says quietly as to not disturb our feeding son. We decided to keep him on Mary, to build their bond via skin to skin. I think half the chateau has seen my wife almost naked but that doesn’t matter as it’s such a natural process, giving birth. At one point in all of our lives, we made our mothers like that. Bare and tired but happy and content.

“I don’t want to break him,” I whisper, making Mary chuckle softly.

“You won’t,” she promises.

“But he’s just so tiny,” I say, keeping up with the whispering. I can tell he’s got Mary’s scowl mastered already because despite being as quiet as possible, the baby still manages to be quite miffed about my voice. “I’m sorry. Were you not ready to come out, yet, mon chou?”

Mary giggles, running her fingers over our son’s soft wisps of hair. It’s most likely that they will fall out and become darker but for now, Mary tells me to enjoy it being blonde before he becomes a little brunette probably.

“Do you think he still looks like a ‘James’?” Mary asks me thoughtfully. “A ‘Jacques’?”

Brushing my finger over our son’s cheek, I nod. Our eyes meet and James stops feeding for a while before remembering his current life’s work and continuing to suckle. “Definitely.” I give James a wide smile. “Welcome to the world, Jamie.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think of that,” Mary breathes out, smiling down at our son. “Nicknames. I like ‘Jamie’. My little Jaybird.”

“He is so going to hate you if you call him that when he’s older,” I inform her, much to her amusement.

“Well, he did bake inside me for almost nine months. He’ll have to deal with it,” Mary replies cheekily.

We turn towards the door when a knock sounds and soon, Narcisse peeks his head through the door. “Family members have been notified and are coming for the formal announcement of the Dauphin’s birth.” He then cautiously steps in fully. “The announcement will be made at the grand stairs so the Queen does not have to exert herself too much.”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Mary says before he leaves. “I don’t feel pretty enough to make any announcements, Francis. Can’t we leave it for a couple of days?”

I brush her hair from her face and nod. “Well, we have enough time. Especially if my aunt is to make her way over from the States. If you’re still not feeling up to it, we can always delay this until Friday. Keep him as ours for a little while before sharing him with the world.”

Mary smiles warmly and nods. “I’d like that,” she says, kissing me quickly before James gets too jealous at the lack of attention. “His father’s son… God, my eyes used to be that colour when I was born. I had red hair for some reason. Like a shade of burgundy, my mother told me…”

“I remember,” I say, fingering a raven strand of her hair. “Then when you turned six, it got darker and darker…”

“Like my father’s,” Mary says sadly, sniffling. “God, I’m sorry-”

“No, don’t be,” I say, wrapping my arm over her shoulders. Her father died when she was two-years-old. Tragic car accident, it shocked quite a few people of status around Europe. Some say he knew American presidents and they attended his funeral. I wouldn’t ask Mary though, she was a toddler when it happened and I doubt James would remember if any notable people attended his father’s funeral. He would have been nine.

Mary rests her head against my shoulder, playing with the wisps of James’ hair. “I would have liked him to be here. To see James… My mother, she’s coming and so is James and his fiancée… The only two immediate blood relatives I have. Even then, we’re as far as one can be with their mother and brother… Daddy’s death changed everything. Mama worked more, James was sent to boarding school back in Scotland… I know she struggled, we all did but I always thought… he’d be alive to see me have children. You can’t always get what you wish for, though.”

Pressing a kiss on the side of her head, I whisper into her ear, “Now, you have Jamie. And you _always_ have me. Your family. And we’ll keep growing until we’re unable to handle one-hundred rowdy kids and we will always be happy.”

Mary chuckles. “I’m not pushing one-hundred kids out of me, Francis,” she tells me fondly.

“You’ll see,” I jest, making us laugh. “Of course not. Fifty’s more than acceptable.”

“Relentless,” my wife mutters as she giggles. She then gasps. “Francis, he’s sleeping.”

I look down and see that, indeed, our son is asleep, mouth wide open around his mother’s nipple. Already getting drunk on breastmilk. “He’s so beautiful.”

“Here,” Mary whispers, gently coaxing our newborn into my arms. “Just… hold him.”

I’m terrified I’ll squash him but it comes naturally to me, holding my beautiful son in my arms like he’s a delicate flower I have to protect. Tears spring to my eyes and I bow my head to kiss his forehead. “I’ll always protect you, mon bonheur… My little happiness,” I whisper into his ear, making him gurgle before settling back to sleep. “I love you.”

* * *

“Did you hear the news?” Kenna asks quietly, coming to take a seat on her usual spot across her husband in the breakfast room. She lifts her tablet up and scrolls through the endless photos Mary sent her and the girls. “He’s so adorable.”

Bash takes a sip of water. “Hmm.”

Looking up at him, Kenna smiles. “I can’t wait to see our little ones. Three more months to go,” she says, rubbing her bump thoughtfully. “We’re expected to stay at Fontainebleau for the formal announcement that’s going to be in a few days. I can’t wait to see our nephew, he looks so much like Francis-”

“I’m going for a ride,” Bash cuts her off, standing up and leaving.

Sighing, Kenna places her tablet down and runs her hands down her face. She stares at the empty seat across from her and eventually, she skips breakfast and goes in search of her husband who is saddling up a horse in the stables.

“Talk to me,” she tells him. “I’m your wife.”

Mounting the horse, Bash turns to her. “I’ll be a while,” he says, riding off.

 _No, he’s not getting away with this easily_ , Kenna angrily thinks as she orders a poor stableboy to ready a horse for her. With his help, she gets onto the horse and follows right after Bash. There isn’t much forest area, none at all. He usually rides down the public roads with a few security guards to keep the places he rides through secure.

Bash ends up at the parking lot when he senses that he’s got company and annoyed, he dismounts his horse and walks towards Kenna on hers. “Get down, now.”

“Or what?” She snaps.

“You’re pregnant.”

“And so?” Kenna retorts. “Many pregnant women have ridden horses, Bash-”

“Get. Down. Now.”

The tone of his voice unnerves her and with his help, she dismounts the horse and he goes to attach the beast to his own. As she turns around to look at him, she’s terrified to notice how _upset_ he looks. She knows that it’s nothing to do with her but everything to do with their new nephew. Because at this point, she may know him better than he knows himself.

“Go home,” he mumbles, about to get back onto his horse but her words stop him.

“It’s the baby, isn’t it?” She asks. “Mary’s baby with _Francis_. Not you. Never you.” She swallows hard as she places her hands on her bump. “It’s not the same from me.” And that stings her, it’s something uncomfortable and heartbreaking. “Would you love them any less? With me as their mother and not your beloved Mary?!”

“Kenna-”

“No. I gave you time, I’m _giving_ you time but I swear to God, Bash… It’s _killing_ me,” she croaks out tearfully. "You and Mary are finished. She is never going to choose you or go back to you. She has her life with Francis. You know? The man she _truly_ loves and cares about. And their son will be a king one day and carry on their legacy, their love in him. And what legacy will my children behold? You promised me-"

"I didn't promise anything," he says quietly, bowing his head.

She lets out a bitter chuckle. "Hold on to your fantasies of Mary because you are not going to get any form of love or respect from me anymore. I'm done."

She walks back, her tears blinding her. She manages to make her way back to the breakfast room, taking a seat and eating her food as she scrolls through James' baby pictures. She's terribly jealous and dreads meeting her new nephew because she will be reminded of the fact that her husband wanted a life with Mary.

That brings her mind to his beloved grandmother's ring. Mary has had the pleasure of wearing it but Bash has never once offered the ring to her. She hasn't even received an engagement ring. The wedding ring that she never wears unless she is at a public or royal event is a simple silver band, nothing special or romantic but it does the job. The job of showing her as belonging to a man who doesn't even want her.

She will always be in Mary's shadow and there is nothing she can do about it. 

The tablet screen goes blank after inactivity and all she does is dry her tears and make herself a promise. _I will never love a man more than I love my children._

And she ignores Bash and pretends that he doesn't exist when he returns to the room and takes his seat silently. 

"Kenna?"

When she doesn't reply but merely puts her headphones on to listen to some classical music, she knows he has got the hint.

* * *

“I wonder what it would be like… to put a baby in you.”

Margot narrows her eyes slightly, swatting Antonio’s hands away from her stomach. “My brother’s baby’s birth has really knocked some brain cells out of your head, has it?” She asks, sitting up and reaching for her glass of water. “We can’t be together, Nio. Nor can we have kids.”

“We can,” he says, sitting up as well. “Just talk to your brother. You said he was reasonable. That he cared about your happiness.”

“Caring about my happiness and arranging an advantageous marriage are two different things,” Margot tells him, her phone beeping with a text. She looks it over and smiles down at her brother holding his son as they look at the camera. “What I do reflects on him, Nio.”

Antonio scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I thought you loved me. I left my girlfriend for you. Yet, you won’t give us a chance?”

“We’ve been together for what? Five minutes?” Margot snaps, getting out of the bed. “Antonio, even if we could marry each other, I wouldn’t want to lose my independence so soon. I’m not like my brother or Leeza. I need time to adjust to things.”

He gets out from the other end, looking across from the bed at her. “So, you don’t love me, is that it?”

“Nio, I care about you. A lot,” she tells him. “Otherwise, this wouldn’t be happening. You’re… special. You’re more than Henry Navarro. But he’s someone I can publicly be with-”

“Are your parents and brother seriously going to deny me and my family? We have money-”

“It’s not about money!” Margot cries out, searching for her clothes. “I need to go home.”

“Margot, don’t go,” Antonio tells her as she starts putting her clothes on and grabbing her stuff. “Stay. Please.”

Margot turns to him. “My brother has sanctioned a family gathering. I can’t deny the damn king anything, brother or not,” she says through gritted teeth.

As she heads towards the door, he grabs her arm and she gasps when he spins her around, her back hitting the door. “I said, _stay_ ,” he says firmly.

“Antonio…” Margot breathes out, eyes wide. They widen even more when he sinks onto his knees.

“Marry me. Marry me and you won’t be tied down by the likes of your brother and your parents, dictating your life and who you should or shouldn’t be with,” he tells her. “We have something special, you know that. I don’t think I’ve felt this strongly for anyone before and trust me, I’ve had my fair share of women who were only with me for my family’s money but you’re different, Margot. You don’t see the money, you see _me_.”

Margot blinks in surprise, feeling her phone going off in her pocket. “Antonio,” she breathes out. “I…”

“I can make you happier, Margot. We could go to Italy, you’ve always talked about it. We’ll be happy together,” Antonio continues.

Margot sighs and retrieves her phone, answering the call. “Leeza, I’m on my way.”

 _“You better be. Mother’s going out of her wits,”_ Leeza informs her. _“But Francis and Mary are still in their babymoon so take your time regardless.”_

Margot lets out a half-arsed chuckle and swallows hard. “I’ll see you soon,” she tells her twin sister before hanging up and looking back down at Antonio. “Can I think about it?”

“I’ll give you a month,” he says, standing up. “I’m going away on business and when I return to France, I’ll be expecting your answer.”

Margot nods once and leaves the hotel room, slinging her bag over her shoulder and looking down at her phone. Swallowing hard, she calls Charlie and requests a ride to Fontainebleau.

* * *

Looking up from her phone, Leeza gives her fiancé a bright smile and nods when the butler offers her more tea. They’re having brunch, waiting for when the rest of the family arrive to meet the newest family member. 

“How many children do you want, anyway?” She asks Philip.

Philip brings his newspaper down a little and chuckles. “I never thought of that, if I’m honest. I’m one of eight, you’re one of nine or ten depending on how you look at it… Naturally, I’d like a small family.”

Leeza chuckles. “Great minds think alike! I’d _love_ to have at least two. Three if we must. Do you know how hard it is to get attention from your parents when you’ve got many siblings?”

“Do I know it!” Philip breathes out warily. “And as the eldest, most of the responsibility laid on me.”

“What was it like, growing up?” Leeza asks, sipping her tea.

Philip smiles wryly. “Well, I was at the boarding house most of the time, remember? I rarely went back home for the holidays.”

Leeza frowns. Then again, her family rules France, of course, they wouldn’t let their children stay at boarding houses. Her parents may be distant, to some children more than others, but they’d rather their children somewhere where they can keep their eye on them as opposed to far away. But to handle their integration from ruling a country into being the parents of the king, they had Henriette and Emone sent to live with some Great Aunt of the children somewhere secure and Charles, Henri Jr and Louis admitted into the boarding house for five days a week.

“I’d like us to be hands-on parents,” she informs him. “Will that be alright with you?”

Philip’s eyes light up. “Definitely.” Then his eyes fall a little and he looks away. “I mean, I barely know my parents other than them being the authoritative figures in my life. And I’m their heir… In barely knowing my parents, I barely know my youngest siblings. The ones who stayed in Spain and didn’t study in France.”

“What are your siblings' names again? I’d want to familiarise myself with them before the engagement party at the end of the year,” Leeza says, grabbing a pen and napkin to write on.

Philip smiles. “John, Margaret, Maria, Fernando, Joanna, Isabel and Tadea. You know John, Margaret and Marie from school. But Fern, Jo, Bell and Taddie have never met your acquaintance.”

Leeza nods, a smile growing on her face. “We’ll never be free of ‘Margarets’, will we?” She jokes, making them laugh as she takes another sip of her drink. “I can’t wait to get to know them better. I bet it will be just as daunting for them as it is for me to meet everyone. I can’t imagine what it would be like meeting my family. We have so many personalities between us, you’d wonder if we were siblings at all!”

“Anyone can tell you’re siblings,” Philip tells her much to her surprise. “You’ve all got similar traits.”

Leeza chuckles. “It’s a-”

“Valois thing? Can’t wait to know more,” Philip chuckles as she laughs and shies her eyes away in slight embarrassment. He isn’t wrong at all. She and her siblings are probably the most insane people in the world. “If we have a son, we’re definitely naming him Philip.”

Leeza scoffs, a burst of laughter escaping her lips. “Yeah, right.”

“No, I’m serious,” Philip says with a chuckle. “I’ve always wanted a namesake.”

“Who says we’ll have a son first? What if all we have are daughters?” Leeza replies thoughtfully.

Philip snorts. “My dear, there are Philippas and Philomenas in the world.”

Leeza scoffs again, shaking her head in disbelief as she laughs. “Wow, you got me there,” she replies. “You’re cunning. I’ll give you that. But knowing my mother, she’ll forbid it so we better pray for both sons and daughters.”

“Indeed,” Philip says, raising his teacup her way.

* * *

_Friday 21st June_

“Before we announce his arrival to the world,” I begin as my family settle themselves and turn to face me in the large drawing-room. “Mary and I would like you all to formally meet…” I trail off as my wife enters the room with our son swaddled in my baby blanket my mother lent us. Said Mother awes at the knowledge of that fact much to my amusement. “We’d like you all to formally meet François-Jacques Pierre Valois-Angoulême-Stuart. Duc d’Anjou and, well,” and I laugh nervously, “the Dauphin de Viennois. Or simply, James - my future successor.”

“Why ‘James’?” Claude asks, puzzled. “A bit _Scottish_.”

“Claude!” I cry out.

She looks around. “What? It’s true!”

Mary takes it lightly, giving me a look before telling my sister, “We named him after my father, James.”

“And I wasn’t an option?” Father asks, brow raised and slightly hurt.

I chuckle, resting a hand on the small of Mary’s back. It’s slightly protective, in the case of my father leaping to kill my wife at her insistence on naming our child after his maternal grandfather. “Well, when Mary and I have another son, we’ll keep you in mind. We just thought that ‘Henry’ was not for a firstborn son.”

Before my father can speak, Leeza gets there first with, “Don’t worry, Papa. When I have a son, I will honour you. But we should let the King and Queen decide what’s best for _their_ child.”

Father scoffs at that. “At least one child loves me.”

“Papa!”

“Henry,” my wife chides softly. “Of course we love you.” _Even at your most difficult_ , I think lightly. “Well, we ought to introduce him to the world now.”

As we leave, I can tell that Mary’s mood has shifted. The past five days of Jamie’s life have been blissful. We’ve tended to all of his dirty nappies, his night feeds, dismissed the nannies, changed his clothes, cared for him _ourselves_ and now, he’ll be shown to the world for people to coo over. He is our little secret, no one knows what he looks like except our family, friends and staff at the chateaux and in a few minutes, the whole world will be gawping at him. Like he’s some show monkey.

I falter too now and through our eyes, I promise Mary that I will do whatever it takes to protect our son from the public gaze. He will be nurtured away from cameras and unknown strangers. He will grow up to have both of us read him to bed each night and bathe him until he can do it herself. He will grow up loved.

We reach the top of the stairs, Mary holding our precious son protectively in her arms. We can already see the cameras zooming in to catch a glimpse of James, whatever they can, whatever features they can get to slap on newspapers, magazines and news stations. We will give them this and shield him from the moment after.

I clear my throat, gaining silence. “Good morning. Thank you all for coming here today to witness the introduction of our son,” I start, gaining smiles and small chatter. “Yes, a son,” when I have silence, I continue, “born at 5:21 AM on Monday 17th of June 2013, my wife and I were overjoyed to finally meet…”

Mary shares a smile with me before turning to the cameras and revealing, “The Duc d’Anjou and Dauphin de Viennois, Prince François-Jacques Pierre Valois-Angoulême-Stuart. Or simply…”

“Prince James,” I conclude. Mary and I have quite mastered the event of finishing each other’s sentences and that pleases the interviewers and reporters greatly. They mutter things about how beautiful our son’s name is and how in sync Mary and I are, a far better match for me than Olivia ever was. Mary has become somewhat of a star in France, a role model for girls and women, and when she finally starts her royal engagements, I can’t wait to see what she can do.

“We are elated following our son’s birth and we will answer any questions you have before we get this little one down for his nap,” Mary says, making every chuckle warmly. She nods over to a woman first. “Yes?”

“So it has been confirmed that Prince James will take the throne after the King when the time comes?” She asks.

I nod firmly. “Yes. Our son,” I begin because James is mine and Mary’s son, “will be the King of France one day.” I choose another reporter.

“Will Prince James be friends with Lady Olivia and the Comte of Navarre’s unborn child?” He asks.

I didn’t even know they were expecting. Antoine’s an enigma. He got married young, had a child young and divorced the poor woman two years later, leaving her with their son, Henry, to spend time in other women’s beds. I guess when he saw that Olivia and I were no longer entwined, he saw his chance to do something, I don’t know exactly what. I just _know_ when the time comes, he’ll divorce Olivia and abandon their child too. It’s just who he is.

“Our son will make friends of his own accord. I cannot say if he and Comte and Comtesse Bourbon’s child will be friends in the future,” Mary tells him. “Next question?” She accepts a middle-aged woman’s raised hand. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Will Prince James be raised as you both were? With quite hands-off parents, in the care of governesses and nannies?”

I laugh at that. “No. The Queen and I intend to be very hands-on parents. We have just spent four blissful nights waking up to our son’s cries for his midnight feeds. I can confirm that we enjoy it, the life he brings to the chateau. We can’t wait to see him grow up into a wonderful person. That is all for now, the prince must really be on time for his nap otherwise no one will get any sleep tonight.”

Everyone laughs and I direct Mary away from the stairs with my hand on her lower back. We look down lovingly at our gorgeous son before sharing a smile. That wasn’t so bad. The questions about Olivia and Antoine lately have been annoying me but they weren’t going to get a reaction from me. Olivia is in the past and now, our beautiful son will be our future. France’s future.

“We love you, Jamie,” I whisper, just for him and my wife.

“So much,” Mary adds, nuzzling her head into my neck as we head for the nursery. “So, so much.”

* * *

_Saturday 20th July_

Today is Jamie’s christening and the whole family has been invited along with family friends. After the delay of waiting for certain people to get ready, I decided to hurry my wife and son along into our waiting car, inviting Bash and Kenna to join us on our journey there. With James strapped in his carseat in between Mary and me, Bash and Kenna take seats across from us and do up their seatbelts. Soon, we’re on our way to the church and no longer pulled back from my mother’s lack of punctuality today.

We’re going to a smaller church location rather than the standard Versailles chapel where multiple royal babies, including me and my younger siblings, were christened. We decided against publicising James’ christening, wanting it to be intimate and amongst family and friends. It’s normally a grand affair, my siblings and I all got grand christenings that were either televised or reported on but we want a lowkey event. We want our son to be as normal as possible within these modern times. Our lives should not be one great spectacle at all times. We’ve even allowed a press conference afterwards at Versailles where reporters can snap one picture of our son each to post on their articles and reports.

“So, when will James be expecting his cousins?” Mary asks, making small talk as she checks if James is still fast asleep. He is, chubby cheeks, pouty lips and all.

Kenna looks away from the window. “Uh, in ten weeks, I believe? We’ll see. It’s all quite quick now,” she says, smiling a little as she rubs her bump lovingly.

“Yes, it becomes quick when you get to your third trimester,” Mary says softly. It’s awkward between them and you can cut the tension with a knife. Even Bash and I share slight nods and raised brows, but it’s weird. Weird sitting in a car with your cousin who was your husband’s ex-fiancée and his brother who is your king and your cousin’s husband. It’s easier when we’re not confined and we can have private talks with each other, but when it’s the four of us together alone, it’s usually a recipe for disaster.

“James looks great,” Bash finally says. “Is that your old gown, Francis?”

I laugh at his teasing tone and roll my eyes. “No, it’s Mary’s. Her mother insisted. We’ll meet her at the church with the Duke of Moray and Duke of Guise.”

He nods and we settle back into silence until I ask about the renovations in Blois. Surely, they must be completed by now. It’s July. 

“They’re going really well. We’re still knocking walls down and building here and there. Kenna has been a real driving force behind making it a home. It’s brighter, airier and less-”

“Haunted,” Kenna says with a soft chuckle as we chuckle with her. “We had people burning incense and sage around. To ward bad spirits away before the babies get here - to purify the chateau.”

“We should do that,” Mary says conversationally, glancing my way. “You never know…”

Kenna hums. “Exactly. James will be better for it. Kids sense the most unusual of things. You remember Holyrood as girls, Mary.”

Mary nods, rolling her eyes. “It was the worst,” she tells us. “We were always screaming for James to save us from the ghosts.” 

We laugh and fall into silence.

After a while, I pick up the conversation again seeing that our journey will take quite a while. “We should schedule lunch sometime,” I offer. “The four of us.”

Kenna smiles politely and nods. “Yes, we’ll see when our schedules are both clear, Your Majesty,” she says and then the rest of the car drive is completed in silence, not what I wished for.

When we arrive, all of us are relieved as the door is opened and Bash steps out, helping Kenna out as well before she ditches his hand and heads inside. He follows after dutifully and I get out of the car, turning to help Mary retrieve James before she gets out herself. We head into the church together, dismissing everyone who is already present from bowing or curtseying. 

Lowkey, we want. Normal, we want. 

We head to the front, greeting the Archbishop as a few relatives fawn over James. It is a simple service, we decided against many of the grand ceremonies and rituals, wanting Jamie to have a christening like the average baby has. Surrounded by loved ones, his godparents and most of all, Mary and me. Wearing a family heirloom, which makes him look sort of girlish because of his abundance of hair and facial features fairing Mary’s side of the family. It’s wonderful.

The rest of my family arrive within the hour and soon, James’ christening starts with him crying and bawling already. I reach my hands out to take him but Mary shakes her head a little as the Archbishop carries on. Something in his eyes reassures me that Mary just wants to let James know that she’s there because I know that he’s not too far off from a feed and feels slightly uncomfortable about the whole affair. He’s a very reserved baby, not used to the huge crowds of people surrounding him but our warm embraces when we’re alone at home.

After he’s been blessed with the Holy Water, he is given to me and James whimpers in my arms before settling into silence. He opens his eyes, thinking he might as well catch a glimpse of what’s going on and our eyes meet. I smile down at him when his lips quirk into a smile before I smell something that makes both Mary and me blush. From this point, the rest of the ceremony is wrapped up and we disappear to change Jamie’s soiled nappy in the restroom.

“How embarrassing,” Mary laughs as she hands me a fresh nappy after I’ve cleaned James up, my nose crinkled upwards.

“I think I pooped at my own christening,” I reveal. “Claude threw up on the Archbishop and Leeza and Margot never stopped crying, competing to see who was the loudest in the church.”

Mary laughs. “Glad I was an easy baby then,” she replies. “You’re really good at this.”

I turn to her briefly, doing up Jamie’s baby-grow. “At what?”

“Changing his nappies, staying up all night to rock him, talking to him,” she says, sighing. “I feel like I’m doing things wrong and there you are, doing all the right things.”

I playfully roll my eyes. “Mary? I’m scared shitless underneath all the calm, trust me. I’m sure I’m doing things wrong too. Just the other day, my mother scolded me for swaddling James a certain way, I was so embarrassed. I hadn’t learnt that yet but there you were, doing it expertly from the minute he was born.”

Mary smiles widely. “I do know how to wrap a good burrito so that must have been why,” she jokes, making me laugh as I press a kiss on her forehead.

“We’re learning together,” I tell her, finishing up with James. “Whenever either of us is unsure, we just tell each other, okay?”

She nods. “Okay,” she replies, kissing me softly. When we pull apart, she lifts James to her shoulder and we head back outside, my arm around Mary’s waist. 

Together.

* * *

_Sunday 21st July_

With her eyes fluttering open, Kenna wakes up to yet more flowers. She’s been receiving them daily, her bedroom is starting to look like a garden. As much as she wishes to reject anything from the sender, she loves flowers and they are her favourites. She has her maids and housekeepers replace them whenever they start to wilt to keep her room fresh and airy.

Things rarely make her smile these days. It’s some sort of melancholy, according to her mother. Baby blues. Kenna knows otherwise, it has nothing to do with the babies. Her babies will never take away her joy, they’ll only add to it and she can’t wait to hold them both and meet them.

She can’t wait to experience a love so pure and beautiful with her children. And she can’t wait for them to meet their big cousin.

Her phone rings and she grabs it blindly and answers it with a soft, “Hello?”

 _“Francis, James and I are on our way. We’ll be there in time for lunch,”_ Mary says, straight to the point. _“Bash said you guys confirmed lunch for today.”_

 _Without my input? Whatever_ , Kenna thinks. “I see,” she says quietly.

 _“Are you okay?”_ Mary asks, slightly winded as Kenna hears a lot of rustling over the line. _“Sorry, James is pooping a million times a day, I’m just making sure the nanny has put enough nappies into his baby bag.”_ Then Mary gasps. _“God, you’ll be carrying double the nappies, won’t you?”_

Kenna fiddles with a loose thread on her pyjama shirt. “Yeah,” she murmurs, smiling a little.

 _“You don’t sound like your usual cheery self,”_ Mary states. _“In fact, you’ve not been yourself in a long while. I’m sorry that I haven’t noticed earlier, carrying the heir to the French throne takes your mind off of certain things. Are you okay?”_

Tears spring to Kenna’s eyes and she nods. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she lies. Mary’s got her own problems. She’s a queen, a wife and _a mother_ now. “Just nervous about the babies.”

 _“Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”_ Mary asks, alarmed.

“Yeah,” Kenna says. “How was it? The labour for you.”

Mary sighs wistfully. _“A lot of pain, I won’t lie to you. But it was an experience I never want to forget soon. One that has me craving for more. The process of carrying life and then birthing life. It’s beautiful. James was in me one moment and the next, he was against my chest and… it was perfect. It will hurt but you’re going to love it, you’re going to be okay.”_

Kenna smiles fondly. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

 _“Any time,”_ Mary says happily. _“I’ll see you soon. We’re about to leave. I love you.”_

“I love you too,” Kenna says quietly, hanging up. She decides that she might as well start getting ready for the day so she starts it off by taking a long bath since the drive from Fontainebleau to Blois is almost two hours long.

She takes her time, caressing and massaging her baby bump as she feels the babies kick. It brings out a smile on her face and she turns her head when her phone starts to ring. Using the towel placed on the chair beside the bathtub to dry her hand, she answers her phone.

“Hello?”

 _“Hi, Kenna, it’s Margaret,”_ Margot says. _“I know we’re not that close and to be honest, we barely have enough time to have a proper catch-up and conversation, but is it okay if we talk for a little bit?”_

“Is something wrong?” Kenna asks, frowning.

Margot sighs. _“I’ve had two proposals. I remember at school, you’d get all the guys asking you out.”_

Kenna sighs, rubbing the side of her head. “Well, we all know how many guys are asking me out now,” she says lightly. “Two proposals, really?”

_“Yeah and I don’t know what to do. The first guy, my parents want me to marry him. They’ve specifically vetted him for this reason, to marry me. But the other guy…”_

“You’re in love with him,” Kenna states. “From experience, marrying the men you love doesn’t get you that far. You are better off marrying the man your parents chose for you. But then again, the man your parents chose for you doesn’t get you far either.”

 _“So, I’m better off single?”_ Margot asks, amused.

Kenna sniffles, wiping a tear from her eye. “Yeah. I’ve got to go, I’m in the bathtub.”

 _“Oh, right. Be careful. And I’ll see if being a lonely spinster for the rest of my life is an option my parents will accept,”_ Margot replies.

That makes Kenna laugh and she nods. “I’d rather choose that myself…”

 _“He will get there, you know? Don’t give up, Kenna,”_ Margot tells her. _“My brother is a… he’s an enigma.”_ Kenna already knows that. _“But one thing I know, he needs a few nudges in the right direction and you’ll both be able to seek the happiness you crave.”_

“I see,” Kenna mumbles tearfully. “I have to go.” She doesn’t even wait for an answer, just hangs up and places her phone back on the chair. That’s enough speaking to other people for now.

By the time Francis, Mary and James arrive, Kenna waits outside to greet them. She smiles widely when Francis takes his time fussing over taking the whole carseat out or just the baby but eventually, he wakes James up and the baby starts wailing, causing Francis to take just the baby out.

“Hello, there,” Kenna says, taking the baby into her arms and leading his parents into the chateau. “Oh, you’re getting so big, aren’t you?”

James gurgles in her arms and she smiles widely, looking up to see Bash heading their way. Her smile leaves her face and she quickly hands the baby back to his father and gestures to the informal dining room.

“Everything is so lovely!” Mary exclaims, looking around. “Wow, you’ve done a fantastic job. I can’t wait to see the final renovations.”

Bash draws his eyes away from James fussing in Francis’ arms and nods. “They should be fully done by the end of August. We’re having stuff imported from abroad. Custom pieces, right Kenna?”

“Right,” Kenna says. When they get to the dining room, she lets everyone in before her. “I’ll just see how the chef’s doing.”

As she walks away, Mary can’t help but frown deeply.

* * *

“Is everything alright with Kenna?” My wife asks my brother as we take our seats and one of the househelp presents us with a Moses basket to put James inside after he’s finished feeding on Mary’s chest.

I turn to Bash as a server presents us with tea and water. “What’s wrong with Kenna?” I ask him, baffled by my wife’s question.

Bash shakes his head and plants a smile on. “Nothing. It’s the renovations. She’s upset that the chandelier she wants will not arrive in time for her family’s visit when the twins arrive,” he says. “You know how irrational hormonal women are.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “You try carrying babies inside you,” she says, taking a sip of her tea. “This is decaf, right?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the server says before bowing and leaving.

Sighing in relief, she continues drinking her tea and I wait for her to take James from me to feed him. She takes her sweet time and I share a knowing glance with her, making her smirk and retrieve a blanket to cover herself up with. 

“Okay, bring him over. I’m ready,” she says.

As soon as James starts to feed, Kenna returns and takes a seat, sliding over a teacup and spoon towards her. “What did I miss?” She asks.

I quickly sip my tea and smile. “Bash was just explaining that you’re upset about a chandelier. Is there anything I can do to help you with that?”

Kenna looks confused and she glances over at my brother before turning to me and shaking her head. “Not at all,” she says.

“I’m sure there are other lovely chandeliers,” Mary tells her happily as the chef arrives with our food on a trolley. “Ooh, salmon. My favourite.”

As we eat, it’s Mary, Bash and I who mainly hold up conversations. Even long after James has fallen asleep and is tucked in the basket, we still laugh and talk like the old days before things got complicated. Every so often, I catch Bash eyeing Kenna and whenever he attempts to speak to her or touch her, she turns away and ignores him.

Something is unsettling wrong and something sinks in the bottom of my stomach when I fear the worst. Has he _hurt_ her?

Bash is in no way that sort of person. Sure, we’ve had fights and we’re made violent, but we’d never hurt women much less our wives. That much our father instilled in us. If we can cheat on them, we can’t hit them whilst we’re at it. And if we are faithful to them, we still can’t hit them. What if our sisters suffered abuse at the hands of people bigger and stronger than them? Would we wish to hurt some other guy’s sister ourselves?

“Uh, Kenna? Can you show me to the restroom, please?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t waver as I stand quickly and she does too, a bewildered look on her face. “I’m desperate.”

It serves as an explanation that she accepts and she rounds the table and leads me out, towards the direction of the closest restroom. There are multiple, she explains as we head through the halls and some are being remodelled. But the most usable one, for now, is upstairs on the first floor.

When we reach the door, Kenna opens it then turns to me and says, “Try the hand cream afterwards. I had it specially produced for Blois.”

When I do not enter the bathroom, her brows furrow and I say in a hushed voice, “Does he hurt you?”

At first, she’s confused, but then it dawns on her, and she starts _laughing_. Just like the time she laughed at their wedding. “In what sense?” She asks. “Physically?” When I nod, she chuckles and swats my arm lightly. “No. Your brother has not hurt me, Francis.”

“Then why do you-”

“We don’t love each other,” Kenna states with a shrug. “Why pretend we’re happy and in love when we’re anything but? I don’t want to fool everyone that I’m the happiest woman in the world anymore. I really don’t care for the state of my marriage, I’m only here for my children.”

I sigh heavily and run a hand down my face. “You don’t love him anymore?” I ask.

She smiles sadly and shakes her head. “If it weren’t for this pregnancy, I would have requested for an annulment,” she admits softly, her eyes falling. “I don’t know what I can tell you that won’t betray his trust because… I’m loyal to this marriage regardless.”

“Mary,” I say simply. When she bristles, I continue with, “She’s the problem. She always will be.”

Biting her bottom lip, Kenna starts shaking a little before she stills and looks up at me. Her eyes are filled with tears and she _smiles_ . “She’s not a problem, Francis. Nor is she a solution. This isn’t her fault or Bash’s fault either. It is what it is.” She leans against the wall by the door and sighs. “I’ve spent months trying to get into his head and heart. Trying to understand him. And when I did, I couldn’t fault him. To her, he is second best when it comes to you. To him, I’m second best when it comes to her. If he can’t put me first the way I put him first, then why am I smiling and lying and _dying_ inside? He isn’t worth my happiness, Francis.”

“You know what I think?” I ask and she shakes her head. “James’ birth has made things tenser between you both. I see the way he looks at my son and Mary. But you know what? Give him more time, I swear it, Kenna, he’ll open up and-”

“No-”

“He’ll choose you and you’ll be happy with your kids-”

“I have more chance believing that pigs can fly tomorrow rather than Sebastian de Poitiers falling in love with me or having an inkling of feelings for me,” she hisses. “No matter how many words you drip into his ear, it won’t work. I mean, not even a love potion will work!”

I recoil and cross my arms. “I’m asking you to give him one more chance.”

Kenna tilts her head to the side ever so slightly. “And I’m asking _you_ , Your Majesty, to keep out of my marriage. If it’s not to provide a solution for the dissolution of it, then I don’t want to hear it.” She then gestures to the restroom. “The toilets at Blois are automated smart toilets. We try to maintain a minimal waste home. You can ask one of the staff here for your way back.”

She leaves, heading back down the stairs with a hand on the railings as she descends. She’s scaringly patient and I decide that it isn’t my issue any longer. As she said, it is her and Bash’s marriage, I have no right to try to fix it or help it. 

I had just assumed that after my father cruelly forced things between them that I’d do anything to make it bearable for them. But I can’t fix everything just because I am a king. Kings don’t hold _all_ of the power and most certainly aren’t matchmakers.

I have Mary and James to focus on and that’s what I do as I silently follow after Kenna and we both take our seats at the table.

“All good?” My wife asks me, her conversation with Bash having been finished.

“Yes,” I say. “You should visit the restroom I used. The hand cream is to die for.”

* * *

_Thursday 15th August_

“Mary, we’ll be back by 10,” I tell my wife as she frets over James. Today is her brother James’ wedding and originally, we had planned to go as a family and stay in Scotland for a week, but as I have other engagements to attend, we had to cut the week stay into a day where we’d leave early in the morning, fly by jet and return home by 10 to nurse James to bed.

“I know,” Mary says, wiping a few fallen tears. “It’s the first time I’m leaving him, Francis…”

I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I know,” I say. “He’ll be fine with the nanny and the family are here in case anything happens. He’s safe. We will be back tonight before you know it.”

She nods, pressing one more kiss on Jamie’s small head. “Mama loves you so much. We will be back very soon, I promise, my darling.” She turns to me and I chuckle, leaning down to kiss our beloved son’s head for the hundredth time. I bet he’s pissed off at our long farewell.

“See you soon, sweetheart,” I whisper, making Jamie smile widely as I playfully roll my eyes. “He’s going to run the damn place, I can tell. Look at his charm.”

That makes Mary giggle and we back away from Jamie and his nanny, going over to the jet. I send one last glance over my shoulder at Jamie, the nanny helping him to form somewhat of a wave ‘goodbye’ and I smile, following Mary up the jet steps.

It takes just three hours, thirty-five minutes for us to reach Inverness, Scotland before we’re whisked off to Mary’s ancestral home, Castle Stuart, five minutes away from the airport by 11 AM. The wedding is starting in thirty minutes so we’re relieved that we’ve made it in time, noting the many turning heads of surprise and awe when they catch sight of us.

Mary’s brother primarily owns Castle Stuart. When he and his future wife decided to move somewhere small and homey, he asked Mary for her blessing in turning it into a tourist’s hotspot. What better use for the former home of Mary, Queen of Scot’s half-brother in the 1500s than to make it a golf course for rich men for the modern-day, Mary, Queen of France’s half-brother?

“I can’t deny, it does make a pretty penny,” my wife whispers to me as we’re seated in front seats by the end of the aisle. “James has been telling me how successful golf is here. And not to talk less about the views! I’ll never forgive Maman for moving her and me to France when Daddy died.”

I squeeze her hand. “We can come here as much as you like, if you want.”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Maybe for our first anniversary next month, after the party. I would say Christmas but it’s better if we spend Jamie’s first Christmas in France.”

I nod. “I agree,” I reply. Mary and I stand up when her brother finally appears. I shake his hand before Mary hugs him tightly. “Congratulations.”

“The deed is not done yet,” he jokes. “God, I’m so nervous. I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten to wear underwear.”

Mary laughs, pointing at his green and blue plaid kilt. “Please, tell me you have!”

“I have,” he assures us with a grin. “Or haven’t I?”

“James!” Mary chides him, hugging him once more. “Good luck. Agnes is a very lucky woman.”

He blushes, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. “And Francis is a very lucky man,” he replies before leaving to get into position as we take our seats again. 

I really am lucky to be with Mary. Our lives have been entwined since the moment we met as kids. I didn’t know how it happened, me falling in love without not knowing what it meant exactly. All I knew was that she was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen and I needed her to be in my life forever. 

She places her hands on mine, gaining my attention. “Agnes looks beautiful,” she whispers as we all stand when the bridal chorus begins. I turn and see my future sister-in-law walk down the aisle. “She’s just as nervous as I was.”

“You were beautiful,” I reply, kissing the side of her head lovingly. “She’ll be fine, just as you were.”

The wedding goes off without a hitch and we stay for the reception, gaining special seats at the head table with the bride, groom and their parents with Marie de Guise as James’ stepmother and mother substitute. Learning about the Scottish culture is wonderful and I even listen to some conversations in Scottish, with Mary explaining what is being said every now and then. 

“How is your little James doing?” Agnes asks us.

“Wonderful,” Mary says, bringing out some pictures we took as a family to show them. “He’s eight-weeks-old now. I’m actually missing him, right now.”

James chuckles. “We’ll let you go home soon,” he says, “and visit after our honeymoon. I hear you’re having a party for your first wedding anniversary?”

I nod at that. “My mother’s planning it, we’re in for a surprise.”

“Can’t wait,” James replies.

The rest of the evening goes by quickly and soon we’re back home in France by 10, as promised. We immediately head straight for the nursery and Mary sweeps Jamie from his nanny’s arms, pressing kisses all over his face as the nanny chuckles, curtseys and leaves us to our peace.

“I missed you so much!” Mary breathes out, sighing in relief.

“Darling, you’re acting as if we were gone for a month,” I jest, brushing my thumb over Jamie’s cheek which makes his blue-grey eyes land on me. My heart bursts with love and adoration for my little boy. “Okay, I missed him a lot too.”

“See?” Mary chuckles, handing him over to me.

Jamie is just so perfect, his little barely there hair and bright, wide blue-grey eyes. Mary better watch out, this little guy has stolen my heart all over again. The feeling of joy and pride I get from being a father surprises me. I used to say it in passing as obviously as king, I’d need heirs, but I never knew just how committed I’d be into being a father. When I was little, my father was always present until he wasn’t. I didn’t miss his presence, nor Mother’s when she drifted off because of having child after child. She sometimes fell into baby blues and Leeza, Margot, Claude and I were pushed back in her line of priorities. 

School became a haven, a blessing in disguise. I could matter, I could get all the attention I wanted from my friends and Bash. But whenever I came home, I’d find myself craving one ‘goodnight’ kiss from Mama or some sort of praise from Papa. They never came until I turned sixteen and became king. But now, I’m an adult, it’s not there at all and there is no point in bringing back all the things I missed as a child, but I won’t let Jamie or any others after him be without.

“Are you okay?” Mary asks, wiping my cheek. I didn’t even realise I was crying.

I give her a little smile. “Yeah, I’m okay,” I tell her, taking a seat in the rocking chair and petting Jamie to sleep under my wife’s gaze. _Jaybird, I promise to do to you all the things I wished my parents did for me_ , I mentally promise. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Mary starts nervously, cutting into my thoughts. Her fingers play with Jamie’s bespoke teddy bear which used to be mine when I was little. She looks down at it and says, “I want to try again. For another baby. My mother said having babies close in age would be wise a-a-and your mother said that too. I know he’s barely even three months old, but I think we can do it.”

Much to Mary’s relief, I respond to that first and foremost with a coy grin. “You’re not just saying that in order to disguise your true intentions of having the king in your bed every night, are you?”

She yelps, swatting me lightly. “Francis! I’m not entirely complaining about your prowess, but I’m serious! We should try again soon,” she laughs. “And for your information, you are _always_ in my bed every night.”

I look down at our sleeping son. “We could, uh, try right now if you’d like?” I suggest as Jamie pulls a face as he sleeps.

Her eyes darken with lust and she takes a gulp. “Meet me in our bedroom in ten minutes,” she whispers, coming over to plant a long kiss on Jamie’s forehead and give me Jamie’s teddy before leaving the room.

I look down at Jamie again. “Well, mon petit chou, you might be an older brother very soon,” I inform him before standing and placing him gently into his cot. “I love you, my darling son.“ I leave the teddy in the cot beside him and pull up the blanket before turning on the sparkly stars and moons mobile, the tune coming alive. With one last glance for the night, I leave Jamie, telling him how much I love him.

* * *

“Mary?”

I step into our sitting room, conjoined to our bedroom and find rose petals scattered everywhere with candles lit. It baffles me just how long it took from setting Jamie to bed, quickly seeing what Narcisse was confused about on my way here to this. Then I realise that Narcisse was only a distraction and I didn’t manage to get here within the ten minutes my wife requested of me. It’s actually been twenty minutes.

Music starts playing and I groan lightly when it’s Adele playing. Mary is obsessed with her music and I do like a little Adele myself, but this is too cheesy for us. Then again, we’re the most cheesiest and perhaps, most famous couple in the world. Well, well-known.

_~“I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue. I'd go crawling down the avenue. No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do. To make you feel my love...”~*_

I step through the double doors separating the bedroom from the sitting room and find Mary surrounded by rose petals and white feathers on our bed. It makes her look ethereal and she has even plaited her hair, entwining a white ribbon into it. She is honestly the sun in my darkness and the most beautiful woman I have ever met. 

“It’s not really a special occasion,” she starts, crawling to the end of the bed to kneel and reveal her white lacy lingerie. “But I just wanted to make this special.”

I walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist tightly and hovering my lips above hers. “Every time we make love, it’s a special occasion,” I whisper before kissing her deeply. I hum into the kiss as she starts undressing me and soon, we fall back onto the feathers and rose petals, sending them flying and floating around us as we laugh and kiss.

Her milky skin is smooth like silk underneath my fingertips, her mouth warm and daring as she shifts her kisses to my jawline before nipping at my earlobe. It’s playful and I use a chance to nip at her collarbone when she pulls away, emitting a sharp intake of breath before she pushes my head further down her body.

“You need to work for it, my sweet,” she says huskily.

I chuckle against her skin, pressing soft kisses down her stomach and around her belly button. I move further down, reaching her bikini line and giving her a smirk and wink before untying the laces connecting the bodice to the panties. Slowly but surely, I pull her panties down with my teeth before flinging them over my shoulder and kissing the inside of her thighs. She tastes delicious against my lips, my tongue desperate to get a good taste of her overall.

“Oh, Francis…” She breathes out, clutching my hair as I get further up towards the very spot she craves my mouth and tongue. “A little… just a little closer, _please_.”

I grin. “Well, since you asked so politely,” I say before I bury my head between her thighs.

We wake up an hour later, just almost twelve in the morning and I squeeze her in my arms, feeling her smile against my neck. She’s just so warm and perfect and _mine_. My wife, my life, my everything. The mother of my precious son and any future children we may have. She’s absolutely perfect in every single way and I’m just so lucky to have her.

“I still feel like a fat whale,” she mutters sadly with a sigh. “I’ve booked a private trainer.”

I pull away to look at her, shaking my head in awe and disbelief. “You’re beautiful, Mary. And don’t feel terrible, not all women need to bounce back so quickly after childbirth and hopefully,” I start, pressing my hand against her stomach, “you’ll be pregnant again soon enough.”

She smiles shyly. “With a daughter this time,” she promises me.

“I don’t mind. If I’m destined to be a father of a million sons, I’d cherish them all. There will be a lot of scraped knees in one household, but I don’t care about going broke buying bandages and plasters. As long as my children are well cared for,” I reply.

Mary bursts into laughter. “I’m worse enough with my insistence on walking the dogs, including the big ones and getting scrapes whenever they see rabbits or cats. Imagine a million sons falling over and getting hurt, Francis. We’d kill you with heart failure at the amount of blood we’d produce between us.”

I wince. “Sadly, that’s true,” I say, making her laugh and kiss my cheek. “I’m serious though, whatever we have, I’ll be happy. We’ve been blessed with a beautiful child in Jamie, any other child of ours will be wonderful too.”

“They will be,” Mary affirms. “Hey, want to get another round in before you have to sleep?”

I would stay up and make love to my wife over and over and over again, but I do have a meeting with the government tomorrow morning and the last thing I want to do is delay them and waste their time. I’m still learning about the whole relationship between the Crown and the government; we need to work in sync and support each other when we are in need. Tomorrow’s discussion will partly be about increased security the Crown needs but I’m hoping to get a halved deal out of it so my mother can foot the rest of the bill with her willingness.

“One more,” I tell Mary before I leap onto her, sending her squealing and cackling as I attack her skin with multiple kisses. “I’m going to eat you like dessert.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mary asks, gripping onto me. “I’d like to see you try!” She bursts into laughter when I cover her mouth with a kiss and squeeze her hip. 

“Darling, we both know I’ll succeed,” I breathe into her ear before she shivers and concedes. “Smart choice, Queenie.”

“Either way, I win, Kingsy,” Mary taunts back before I laugh and shake my head a little. 

_How did I get so lucky?_

* * *

_Saturday 17th August_

“What is the verdict, Margot?” Antonio asks her. “You’ve been delaying your decision for months now.”

Margot gives him a wide smile. “Will you shut up and get down on one knee, please?”

Gasping, Antonio doesn’t do what she asks but hurries to retrieve something from his suitcase. Unzipping it, he shoves clothes to the side and retrieves a ring box. Smiling, he hurries back to Margot and gets down on one knee.

“Margaret, will you marry me?”

Margot grins and nods, getting down onto her knees and letting him slide the ring on. She kisses him deeply and snuggles her face into his chest happily. “We’ll have to bring your parents down to meet mine and the King and Queen. They won’t be happy, my family, but if my brother can marry for love, why can’t I?”

Antonio leans back to look at her. “You love me?”

“Of course, I do!” Margot breathes out. “I think it was love at first sight.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss on her forehead. “I love you too.”

Her smile leaves her face and she sighs. “I’ll have to call Navarro and tell him that I won’t be marrying him anymore. I’d hate to hurt him-”

“But you’re with _me_. He doesn’t mean anything,” Antonio cuts her off. “Alright? Forget about his feelings. What matters is you and me.”

Margot nods and grins before they both get up from the floor. “This was meant to be a quick stop, but tomorrow I am _all_ yours.”

“Are you?” He asks coyly.

“Yes,” she replies sultrily. “You see, my sisters’ birthday is in eight days. I’m helping to plan it.”

“How adorable. How old are they turning?”

Margot grins. “Henriette and Emone are turning thirteen! Teenagers now. Oh, God, it’s like they were born just yesterday…”

“Kids do grow up within a blink of an eye,” Antonio says, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Margot nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When she gets back to Fontainebleau, she parks her car behind the Orléans’ car and she hands her key to one of the guards before going to help Kenna out of the car. She notes her brother’s lack of presence as Kenna thanks her for her help out of the vehicle.

“Where’s Sebastian?” Margot asks her as she links their arms and they head inside.

“He had to travel to get the twins’ birthday gifts,” Kenna says. “Spoiler alert, they are horses. Rare breeds and the breeder lives somewhere so remote, he had to go there to check them himself. He’ll be here in a couple of days once he gets them used to him.”

Margot nods slowly. “How lovely. The girls will love them! I don’t think Papa’s ever got them horses. They’re forgotten about mostly, the girls. It’s quite sad but hopefully, things will change for the better.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway, how are you and Bash doing now?”

Kenna blushes and bows her head. “We’re doing okay,” she mumbles. “We’re considering seeing a marriage counsellor.”

“I see.”

“It has got to a point where our marriage is damaging to both of us. You don’t have to worry about it.” She smiles brightly. “It doesn’t even matter now, we’re looking towards the future and by next month, we’ll be parents.”

Margot raises her brows but then she grins. “I can’t wait to meet your babies. James is so wonderful whenever I see him, I’d have more excuses to stop by and see you and Sebastian,” she says. “This family will be full of babies and the thought of it brings the good kind of goosebumps to me.”

Kenna smiles fondly and that’s when her eye catches a sparkle. “Oh! Who proposed?”

Margot quickly hushes her and pulls her ring off before sticking it into her bag. “The man I love but don’t say anything until I’ve told Francis and our parents. I wouldn’t want to mess things up and get yelled at before I can plead my case.”

Kenna zips her mouth up. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

They bump into Charlie and he greets Kenna warmly before the three continue onwards to the rest of the family to help plan the younger twins’ birthday. It’s a joint effort. The girls will arrive the day before their birthday and they want their introduction into teenagehood to be perfect. Especially Catherine as a way to make it up to them.

As Charlie and Kenna talk, Margot looks at her bare ring finger and smiles to herself.

* * *

_Sunday 25th August_

“Henriette, Emone,” I begin, presenting them both with matching presents, “Happy Birthday.”

Henriette cautiously opens hers first before Emone also opens her gift up. Mary and I got them matching charm necklaces with little charms representing the girls, me and the rest of our siblings. Something from home when they go back to stay with our great aunt. I know the girls miss us terribly and I have considered speaking to our parents about letting them return to them or Mary and I’s care. Where Margot, Leeza, Claude, Charlie and Henri Jr live with us as they attend school and Charlie and Henri Jr come to stay following spending weeks at their boarding school, Louis is the only one who lives with our parents but even then, he’s pretty much sent off to stay at school as well.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, Your Majesty,” Emone says with a brief curtsey as Henriette mumbles her own thanks.

I give them a comforting smile, raising the girls’ chins so our eyes meet. “You’re all grown up now,” I tell them. They were six-years-old when they were sent off to live with our great aunt and for special occasions over the seven years they’d been living away from us, they’d visit. It wasn’t enough, their relationships with the rest of us and our parents becoming strained but Mother and Father thought it was the best option back then.

But now I feel terribly guilty and I hate the feeling of knowing, as I look deep into their eyes, that they are far from happy where they are. They probably think it’s a punishment and I can’t bear the thought.

“Mary and I have another gift for you,” I say, leading them over to my wife who is in the middle of a conversation with Kenna, Margot and Leeza. “Mary, a moment of your time please?” I excuse the four of us and lead the females outside into the hallway where the moonlight shines through the window and hits the hallway chandelier just right. 

“Francis, what is it?” My wife asks, giving my sisters bright smiles.

I clear my throat and turn to Henriette and Emone. “As the school year is returning, I was thinking if we could enrol you both in a closer school to us. You’d be living with Mary and me at Fontainebleau, and attend St. Francis with Charlie and Henny. Would you both like that?”

Henriette nods eagerly as Emone bursts into sobs. Soon, Henriette joins her and they both hug me tightly, rambling about how much they hated it in the country and how strict and impersonal our great aunt was. She’s a sister of our mother’s mother who is half-French and I remember visits from the woman that was less than ideal.

“Are you really telling the truth?” Emone croaks out as Mary runs her fingers through their hair. “Can we live with you?”

“Yes,” Mary says as I nod.

I then smile. “And we can bring Charlie and Henny back from boarding school, bring Louis over to stay with us too and we’ll have movie nights every weekend,” I tell them. “I’m sure Mother and Father will agree. It will give them more time to spend with each other as we get to spend more time with each other too.”

Henriette grins as she wipes her tears away. “First one brother gives us both horses and promises to teach us how to ride them and now the other, who is my favourite,” I grin and she playfully rolls her eyes, “tells us he wants us to live with him.” Her voice breaks when she gets to the last part and she buries her face into my chest, hugging me for dear life. “Thank you, Francis.”

Emone jumps back into the hug much to my amusement “Yes, thank you, Francis!”

“And I promise you both,” I start, slipping Emone’s strawberry blonde curls behind her ear, “that I’ll try and spend as much time as I can with you.”

“We both will,” Mary says, joining in the hug.

I can tell for certain that this birthday is their most favourite birthday of all time, considering we’ve missed quite a lot of them when they stayed in the countryside. I make a mental note to have their household staff pack all of their things and bring them to Fontainebleau. Things will change for them now and I make it my goal to make sure that every one of my siblings is happy and content.

“Right, let’s get back before people start to wonder where we’ve got to,” I say, letting the girls head off first as Mary turns to me.

“You’re amazing, do you know that?” She asks me fondly.

I blush. “I keep thinking, what if those were our daughters? I’d never want to send any of our kids away, regardless of what’s going on. I want us to be hands-on parents as I’ve said. Maybe we could use my siblings as a practice? Until we know the type of parenting style we’d like for James and our other children to receive.”

“That’s a good idea, I agree,” Mary replies. “Although I’d be an awful disciplinarian.”

I laugh at that and kiss her forehead. “ _I’ll_ be ‘bad cop’ then,” I drawl before pecking her lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replies.

Just as we’re about to go, we see Margot heading our way and she requests to speak to me alone. Getting the hint, my wife rubs Margot’s shoulder as she says that Jamie’s probably looking for her anyway. We shift further along down the hallway, Margot and me.

“Don’t be mad,” she starts nervously, “but I’m engaged.”

My brows raise and I smile widely. “Congratulations! You and Henry Na-”

“Not to Henry Navarro,” she tells me quietly. “Damian Gallo-Ricci’s second son, Antonio.”

My smile dissipates a little. “A Gallo-Ricci?” I ask. “Are you sure?”

Margot scoffs, furrowing her brows. “Of course, I’m sure. Why do you ask?”

“Well, they’re known for their playboy antics. Margot, I’m a man, I know what other men are capable of. And I’m sure one rich kid won’t be opposed to having a princess,” I tell her.

She glares at me. “Antonio’s different! He loves me and I love him. He only sees _me_. He even split with his girlfriend for me-”

“If he’s cheated on someone before, he’ll cheat on you. So, you were his side piece before he made you his main one?” I retort.

If she could slap me, I’m sure she would as she says, “Tell that to yourself, Francis. We all know that you and Mary were knocking beds whilst you were with other people.”

“That’s different-”

“How?!”

“We’re _soulmates_ , Margot. I never loved Olivia, I kept trying to marry _Mary_!” I exclaim. “It was always Mary for me and I’ve known her since we were children! You’ve known this man for what? Five minutes.”

“Screw you, Francis! Why can’t you just let me be happy? You’re just like Maman and Papa,” she replies tearfully. “You just want an advantageous marriage to suit _your_ needs.”

I give her a stern look. “I want you to be happy. If Leeza has found something in Philip, you can find something in Navarro. Mary and I are very different to you all but one thing for certain, we’re all well suited for a reason.”

“I thought out of everyone, I could trust you the most,” Margot whispers. “I’m marrying Antonio, Francis. You’re either with me or against me. And I’m telling you now, I love and respect you but if you deny me this… I’ll leave this family and if the opportunity arises that anyone wants to get certain information from certain sources of the Royal Family… I wouldn’t say ‘no’.”

My eyes darken and I set my jaw. “Marguerite Michelle Valentina, I never knew you’d stoop so low.”

“You did to Bash when all he did was fall in love with your beloved wife,” she says innocently. “Perhaps I’ll write a book about that. The scorned brother, the demure love interest wanted by two brothers and the little king… Could sell. Even under a pseudonym.”

I start to leave but stop just by her ear. “If this all burns down, crashing all around you, don’t come crying back to me,” I tell her before leaving.

* * *

_Saturday 31st August_

When Kenna finishes up in the bathroom, using a towel to dry her hair, she’s surprised by the sight of flower petals on her bedroom floor. Leaving the towel on a settee, she collects the message on her bed.

_[Follow the petals - Sebastian]_

She gets dressed and slips her ballet flats on before following the petals out of her room. In the Duchess’ Quarters, there are three connected rooms. The middle one serves as her wardrobe and dressing room, the third one is a spare bedroom which was normally used for ladies-in-waiting in the past or head handmaidens and the first room is her bedroom. The petals lead across her bedroom, over the settee in the lobby area of the rooms, towards the third bedroom.

Cautiously, she walks towards the bedroom and pushes both halves of the door open. She gasps when she sees that the spare bedroom has been turned into a fairytale-themed nursery with two matching chocolate brown wooden circular cribs.

As she steps into the room, hands on her bump, she looks around in awe. She hasn’t even contemplated preparing for the babies, Madame Lombard said that she and the nannies were taking care of it as her midwife and doctors had told them to prevent stress for her.

“What do you think?”

She turns around and finds Bash holding a delivery box. “It’s really lovely, Bash,” she says. “What’s in there?”

He looks down at the box and puts it down onto one of the sofas in the room. “My mother sent it over months ago. Stuff from when I was a baby. I just thought I’d select the ones that fit. That is if you’d want them? You can change anything if you want. Everything, really. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you-”

“Honestly, it’s wonderful,” she tells him, smiling when she feels a few kicks. “The babies agree too.”

Smiling back, Bash gestures to the box. “Do you want to look through these with me?”

“Do they come with stories?” She asks with a slight grin.

He chuckles. “Probably,” he says as she comes to sit on the sofa beside the box and he starts bringing things out. He shows her a worn rabbit doll and she takes it into her hand to inspect. “I’d go everywhere with that thing. I’d just hide under stairs and whisper into its ear all day about everything and anything. My first friend if I’m honest.”

“Was it lonely growing up?” She asks him carefully.

“My mother found alcohol more interesting than me. She was spiteful, then and still now. I know she loves me in her own way but I wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She wanted my father but… We all know how that worked out,” he replies. “She’d put me under strict curfews. She hated how close I was to my half-siblings. Kept telling me they’d hurt me. That they didn’t see me as one of them…” He looks pained and Kenna reaches out for his hand much to his surprise. “Uh, what about you? How was it growing up?”

Kenna snorts, the air in the room becoming less tense. “Well, before I came to France for school, I was really close with my older brother. My parents were pretty hands-on parents as far as parents go. We’d have forts built in the living room and we’d use the fireplace to roast our marshmallows every weekend. I still have pretty decent relationships with my parents and brothers thankfully.”

Bash smiles. “That’s good,” he says, noting that their hands are still entwined. He doesn’t make a move to untwine them and neither does she. He uses his other hand to retrieve an old journal. “Oh, God. She kept this thing?”

Kenna raises her brows. “What?”

Opening up a page, he shows her his childish scrawls. “Every little thought that a child Sebastian de Poitiers had. Things I didn’t tell Mr Rabbit, I’d write them in here.” He smiles sadly at an extract from September 1997. “This page was done when Henny was born. I was about eight and our father had asked if I’d wanted to stay with them for the week. Unfortunately, I’d got sick and had to stay in my room for the whole week as the other kids played outside. They couldn’t see me, I had chickenpox and they didn’t want to risk it passing onto Henny so I’d write in here. Wishing that I was outside and not stuck indoors.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was years ago,” he says, putting the journal back and retrieving his hand back. It feels colder and he gestures to his old rabbit. “Keep or no?”

Kenna smiles. “Definitely keep. As a decoration. I don’t want either of them to be jealous so we should stick to getting two of each toy and whatever else.”

“Right,” he replies, deciding to sort out the rest later. “Do you want to go to the Foix terrace before breakfast?”

Kenna nods, feeling a baby kick. “I’d like that.”

* * *

_Sunday 1st September_

“So, Margaret has told you?” Father asks me as he barges into my offices. He had requested a meeting before Church and I couldn’t deny him since I was concerned about my sister as well.

“I’m no happier than you about it,” I tell him. “But if it’s what she wants, then who are we to stop her from marrying him?”

“I don’t want useless billionaire playboys ruining this family’s image,” my father hisses across the desk. “You need to put a stop to this before your mother tries her hand at it.”

I sigh. “Father, the more we push, the more she rebels. If we accept it-”

“I’ll never-”

“ _Falsely_ ,” I snap. “Pretend we’re on their side, perhaps she may realise the novelty of being with Gallo-Ricci has worn out.”

Father rolls his eyes. “What if she just marries him anyway?” He asks me. “We can’t trust her, we need to put an end to this relationship. Navarro is ready to propose on the sidelines. He adores her and he is perfect for her. We just have to make her see that.”

“What if we invite Antonio and his parents over for dinner and get to know them?” I suggest. “Make her see that we’re trying to be supportive of her decision.”

“But we’re not…” My father says in realisation as I slowly nod. “You’re smart. But what if this plan backfires?”

“I’d hate to be the one to tell her, ‘I told you so’,” I tell him. “And we all know how Margot hates being told that.”

“I’d tell her,” Father replies. He shakes his head with a sigh. “She and Elisabeth turn twenty-two tomorrow yet, they can act far from the adults they are. Sometimes, parents do know better. And that is okay because children do not always have the answers, even after they become adults.”

I nod and we both take seats, my father pouring himself a drink from my desk decanter. “How did you feel when you and Maman had me?”

At first, he’s surprised by the question but he then smiles a little. “Your birth saved our marriage. If it weren’t for you, things would be very different, Francis. Perhaps, I would have married Diane and made Sebastian my heir and be done with it, regardless of the opposition against them. However, finally having the child she always wanted, it had made your mother happier. In turn, that made me happier. Then when Leeza and Margot came along, things got even better. It’s strange. Sometimes, a couple can be happy with it being just them but children genuinely can strengthen a relationship.”

I definitely feel that way when it comes to Jamie. He was what we were missing but yet things were still perfect between Mary and me. Regardless of if I needed to have a child or not, we’d still be a happy family, the two of us. I have three legitimate brothers behind me, my family’s line would continue but I wouldn’t trade James in for anything.

“I love Jamie so much,” I tell my father. “I don’t think I’ve slept a full night’s sleep because I just end up watching him sleep. I still can’t believe that he’s here.”

My father smiles at that. “You and me both, Son. When you were just born, I had your mother resting whenever you weren’t feeding. And when you’d sleep, I’d be there right by your cot, watching every rise of your chest. I just couldn’t believe it. Your uncle would make fun of me, but I told him to wait until he had kids of his own to understand…” He chokes up. “I wish there was a part of him that lived on… It does get terribly lonely without him.” His eyes gloss over as if he’s remembering a distant memory and as much as it makes him sad, he still smiles in joy. “There is a part of him. You. You’re just like him.”

I look over at the wall on my left and spy a photograph of my father, his brother and their sister as children. I didn’t change much in this room. A lot of family photos over the years have stayed, especially when it comes to those before me. Who am I to get rid of years of history?

“I miss him too, Father,” I tell him.

He snorts. “He’d definitely find a way to convince this Gallo-Ricci to keep away from us. His silver-tongue always did get us out of tricky situations growing up.”

I laugh. “What did you do?”

“I’m not saying anything, but it did involve our mother’s hair,” my father informs me before leaving me alone to gape.

I sometimes forget that he wasn’t always a man, but he too had a childhood and I want to give my son the best childhood I can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I so wanted Francis and Mary’s first child to be a boy and it was kind of premeditated because Francis having a son who is the spitting image of him is such an awesome thought. His daddy’s mini-me. I decided to go with the traditional name they went with inside the show when Mary and Francis were talking about their future children, James and naturally when they do eventually have a daughter, they will name her Anne, but Anne and James won’t be their only children, so stay tuned for that. 
> 
> *Make You Feel My Love by Adele.
> 
> Chapter’s major characters’ details (in order of ‘screen time’) (French-stylisation):  
> ~François (Francis) IV Simon Léon Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 6th October 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: His Majesty, King of France & The Son of France  
> ~Marie Joséphine Rebecca Stuart-de Guise-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 15th December 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Majesty, Queen of France & The Daughter of France  
> ~Sébastien Laurent Daniel Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 29th July 1989. Age (by the end of the chapter): 23. Titles: His Grace, Sebastian Valois-Angoulême, Duc d'Orléans  
> ~Henri VI Christophe Pierre Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 31st March 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 47. Titles: His Royal Majesty, King Father, Henri Valois  
> ~Mckenna Marie Rachel Ross Beaton-Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 5th November 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Grace, Mckenna Beaton, Duchesse d’Orléans  
> ~Élisabeth Isabella Catherine Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 21. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Elisabeth, Duchesse de Brittany  
> ~Marguerite Michelle Valentina Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 21. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, Duchesse de Berry  
> ~Claude Leona Annette Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 12th November 1992. Age (by the end of the chapter): 20. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Claude, Duchesse de Lorraine  
> ~Charles Maximilien Pierre Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 27th June 1995. Age (by the end of the chapter): 17. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Charles, Duc de Touraine  
> ~Henri Christophe Jr Arthur Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 19th September 1997. Age (by the end of the chapter): 15. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Henri, Duc d’Alençon  
> ~Louis Valentin Hercule Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 3rd February 2002. Age (by the end of the chapter): 11. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Louis, Duc d’Urbino  
> ~Caterina Isabella Margherita de’ Medici-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 13th April 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 47. Titles: Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mother, Catherine de’ Medici  
> ~Henriette Joan Maria Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 26th August 2000. Age (by the end of the chapter): 13. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Prince Henriette, Duchesse de Maine.  
> ~Emone Jeannette Louise Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 26th August 2000. Age (by the end of the chapter): 13. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Prince Henriette, Duchesse de Savoy.
> 
> And finally for the new Valois around!   
> Main Valois children's children characters and their details:  
> ~François-Jacques Pierre Valois-Angoulême-Stuart. DOB: 17th June 2013. Age (by the end of the chapter): roughly two months. Titles: His Royal Highness, The Dauphin de Viennois et Duc d'Anjou, Prince James.
> 
> Luc Narcisse, Antonio Gallo-Ricci, James Stuart and Agnes Stuart are minor characters in this chapter.


	5. Stockholm Syndrome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis bonds with his siblings. Bash and Kenna prepare to meet their babies with Bash making more of an effort to bond with his wife. Charlie and Lisa fear their parents’ wraths after they find out unexpected news. Leeza and Philip fall into issues regarding planning their wedding. Mary finds out about her mother’s political advances and works to help her. Claude gets into a life-threatening situation where Luc may be her only hope. Margot attempts to build relationships between her loved ones and Antonio but a situation throws her plans in the flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll be in 2013 for a good few chapters.

_Sunday 8th September 2013_

“Breathe and when you’re ready, let it fly,” I say into Henny’s ear as he falters for a bit before releasing his arrow. It misses the centre, landing on the outer edge and he sighs heavily. 

“I hate this,” he mutters darkly.

“You’ll get a hang of it soon,” I tell him as we watch Charlie get it right with three quick arrows. It makes Henny even more gutted and he chucks his bow onto the ground, walking off. “Henny!”

On the nineteenth, he’ll turn sixteen and he’s been such a sour person lately. Mother says it’s all a part of growing up and I went through the same tantrums. I don’t remember anything of the sort as straight after my sixteenth birthday, I was suddenly King of France with a whole new attitude check.

Since I’ll be too busy to celebrate his birthday and it does fall on a school day next week, I decided to have him and my other younger siblings who’d come to a day full of activities. Blois seemed like the perfect chance to get some privacy from all the flashing cameras and paparazzi since Henriette and Emone are very timid girls and I wanted to include them most of all, as my new wards. 

“I’ll go after him,” Hattie says politely, hurrying off.

Emone looks so lost without her other half and I direct her, by her shoulders, over to a target board. “Wh-What-”

“I know you’ve got some skills tucked in there,” I say, tapping her head. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Emone gives me a puzzled look before grabbing her bow and an arrow. Without a flinch, she manages to get the arrow into the centre. “Is that what you wanted?” She asks, tilting her head. “Because I can also do _this_.” She retrieves another arrow and turns on her heel before shooting the arrow through an apple on a tray being held by a butler walking past. 

“God, you’re great!” I cry out jogging over to retrieve the apple and walking back to show her. I pull it open in half easily. “Who taught you?”

“Grauntie,” she replies, shrugging a little. “It’s the only fun we’re allowed, really. Everything else is boring in between school and the time we’re let off for the weekends.”

I lift her chin, her blue eyes meeting my own. “That’s _amazing_.”

She blushes. “Thanks,” Emone says, shifting from my grip to grab another arrow. “Want a try?”

“I could shoot,” I reply, grabbing an arrow. “A bit rusty though.”

Emone scowls, turning to me. “Watch yourself lie, Your Majesty.”

I let out a laugh and expertly get three in the centre of the targets. “Well, I’ve not done that in months.”

Her brows raise. “Really?”

“Yes. Since Valentine’s Day with Mary,” I inform her as Bash finally turns up despite being his own home. “Where have you been?” That’s when I notice he looks slightly unnerved. “Bash?” I wave a hand in front of his face as Emone looks over, concerned. “Sebastian!”

He seems to snap out of his thoughts and turn to me. “Uh, Kenna has been complaining about something similar to contractions, but it’s too soon. She’s only 34 weeks gone.”

“Aren’t multiple pregnancies early?” Emone asks thoughtfully which seems to alarm him even more.

“Really?”

“God, did you guys forget to learn about Sex Ed and pregnancies in school?” She asks, giving us an amused look before hitting the bullseye of another target.

I turn to Bash. “You should probably stay with her and-”

“No, I promised you guys we’d do whatever Henny wanted and Kenna’s assured me that she’s fine,” Bash says. “I’ve prepared the horses for a quick round across the river.” He then looks around. “Where’s Henny? And Hattie?” And then I’ve noticed that even Charlie’s gone. “And Charlie?”

Emone gives us a little giggle. “Charlie went to the toilet and Henny’s in a strop again so Hattie’s gone after him,” she tells him before we watch Louis struggle to wield his bow. “Stop, I’ll show you.”

As she helps Louis, Bash leans close to me and says, “She’s a right little madam, isn’t she?”

“All the girls in our family have attitudes,” I reply, just as quiet. “I can already see traits in Mary. She’s been around them for far too long.”

“Good luck with her then,” he chuckles, grabbing a bow as I go over and help Louis before Emone loses her cool.

By lunchtime, we head inside for smoked salmon, eggs and sourdough, Henny’s favourite. He seems to be in better spirits with food in his belly and even attempts at jokes, all of us politely laughing or sincerely laughing if it’s amusing to us enough. 

“I’m sorry for earlier,” he says, grabbing his drink. “Father nor Mother will be here for my birthday next week.”

I drop my fork onto my plate. “What? No, that can’t be right,” I reply, shaking my head slightly as I make a mental note to find out what’s going on there.

“They said that since I’ll be in school already, there is no point in celebrating this year. Next year, it will fall on a Friday so they might be willing then,” he says tersely.

“Right,” I say. “Are you sure they aren’t going to surprise you on the weekend?”

Hattie scoffs. “I doubt it,” she says. “They’d rather celebrate Francis’s birthday regardless of the day.” 

Charlie even laughs at that. “Everyone knows that you’re their favourite child, brother dearest,” he adds. “Firstborn son, blonde and blue-eyed, the perfect epitome of a born-to-be king. The rest of us are spares and even then, little Prince James is ahead of us. Not that we’re ever planning on taking your throne. But one can’t help but wonder… Why weren't we ever given as much attention as,” he points at me, “the firstborn,” and then at Louis, “and the baby.”

“Charles,” I start tightly. “I don’t think _any_ of us were given attention after a certain threshold of time.”

“Don’t lie,” Henny says, rolling his eyes. “You just don’t see it because-”

“Mother and Father never tucked _me_ in bed,” I tell them quietly. “Nor read me to sleep. Or go to any of my sports performances. I was the heir, I was trapped in Fontainebleau for six years because I had leukaemia. You don’t remember because you were little or not born at all.”

Charlie turns to Bash. “Is this true?”

Bash raises his brows, shrugging. “Don’t look at me. I am the least favoured child of our father’s, remember? The illegitimate son, the outcast,” he turns to me, “the charity case.”

I give him a slight warning look. “Our parents are difficult people. Father, he’s always been distant. Mother… Well, she stopped caring, after Claude came along. Baby blues, postnatal depression, crazy stuff went on with her and when I was ill and could barely leave my room, she got worse. If you believe I got attention, that was because Uncle Francis died and suddenly, I was going to be King of France one day. I was drilled, my freedom was taken away and whenever I went to school, I’d rather stay there than go home and face the coldness met from Mama and Papa. I just wanted them to praise me, one time. Just to let me know I was doing things right, but it never came. Don’t expect the same for you. You see how Leeza, Margot and Claude are. We’re all pawns to them, I just happen to be able to move one move per turn in this game called our lives. Do you think being king is easy? It was the one thing I never wanted. I couldn’t even marry the woman I loved at first.”

Charlie looks guilty and bows his head. “But you married her eventually.”

“Thankfully,” I reply, sipping my drink, “and I’m glad that at least, I can go through this game with her by my side. Without her, I’d have lost my mind.”

Emone raises her hand and I nod, amused. “School thing,” she explains, laughing slightly. “Can we talk about something else now?”

Hattie turns to her in surprise before looking at me. “Can we really?”

“Of course we can,” I tell them, making them sigh in relief as we move our conversation onto something lighter and less strained.

I adore my siblings, older and younger. Even Margot, who is giving me trouble at the moment. I’d do anything for either of them. Despite the battles we have between ourselves, they are nothing against the battles we have with outsiders and we just have to keep each other's interests at heart.

* * *

“What is next on the agenda?” Henny asks excitedly. Lunch has certainly perked his spirits up and I think we’re all a little lighter after our discussion over our parents. They always find a way to become a conversation point, that’s for sure.

I hold up my list. “A scavenger hunt.”

“Isn’t that for children?” Charlie asks, with his hands on his hips. “Francis.”

“Don’t worry,” I say with a grin. “The reward is quite a good one. And Bash and I get to watch all of that happen from the comfort of our seats.”

“You’re not joining in?” Emone asks. “Then it’s totally for children!”

I roll my eyes hard. “Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Sorry, left it back in Burgundy with our great aunt,” Hattie retorts.

“Okay,” I start, giving them a little smirk. “If I told you that the reward was being the king or _queen_ for a day and ordering me about, would you still be tempted?”

That gains all of their attention and Charlie and Henny share a coy grin before running off. I am about to speak but Hattie reminds them that they don’t even know what their scavenging for let alone the clues. They eagerly return.

“Right, I’ve made you all clues,” I say. “To collect your respective ‘royal garbs’. You must go through them in order otherwise you can’t collect the next clues and find the crown first.”

“So, how are we doing this? Are we going teams or is this first-come, wins?” Henny asks. “And by the way, it’s my birthday event so _I_ should be king for a day!”

“Jesus, Henny,” I mutter. “I’ve got you another gift. It doesn’t matter, it’s a little bit of fun and I can see all of your bloodthirsty gazes, ready to order me to clean a toilet or something.” We laugh and I hand them their clues. “Teams, ladies and gents. Hattie and Charlie are together and Emone, Henny and Louis make up the other team.”

Henny gasps. “You put the two slowest people on my team?!”

“It was a random selection,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Right, on your marks, get set… Go!”

They hurry into the chapel first as Bash and I take our seats in the courtyard. He slips his sunglasses on, the warm Autumn sun hitting our skin. As we wait for the scavenger hunt to finish with our siblings hurrying out of the chapel and into the main house, my phone rings and I answer it quickly.

“Mary, hi,” I say, smiling when I hear Jamie in the background.

 _“Hey, we’ve been missing you,”_ she says and Jamie’s gurgles are louder. _“Someone’s talkative now that Daddy’s on the phone.”_

I chuckle. “He’s telling me all about his day, huh?” I ask.

Mary hums before she starts cooing at our son. _“You miss Papa? Do you want to see him? Yeah? We should go down there.”_

“Are you sure?” I ask, watching as Emone leads Henny and Louis back outside and down to the car park area just outside the courtyard. I’m about to stand up and check on them but I see guards head their way and relax. “I’m making sure my siblings get some good bonding time with me so I might not be around you guys much.”

Mary chuckles. _“I’m sure we can join in the fun. What are you guys doing now?”_

“A scavenger hunt. The winner gets to be king or queen for the day,” I tell her. “Henny’s dying to win because he’s ahead right now.” Just then Charlie and Hattie head out and go towards the car park.

 _“Are you sure that’s a reward you wish to give?”_ My wife asks dubiously. _“You know your younger siblings. They’ll use you as their footstool if you’re not careful.”_

I laugh and roll my eyes. “I’m not scared of a bunch of kids, Mary. What’s the worst they can do?”

She chortles and then sighs wistfully. _“Your mother’s doing my head in. I’m coming down with Jamie.”_

“If you leave now, you could get here by four,” I tell her casually as I waft a bug away.

 _“Good thing we’re already in the car and we’ll be there by three,”_ my wife states before she lets out a laugh at my silence. _“What can I say? I’m a very prepared woman. I’ll see you all very soon if this traffic lets out.”_

I smile. “Safe journey, babe. I’ll talk to you later.”

_“Yeah, I love you.”_

“I love you too,” I reply, hanging up. I turn to Bash. “Mary’s coming with Jamie.”

He nods slowly. “Great,” he says quietly. He retrieves a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one up with a relieved sigh. 

“What’s up?”

“What if I’m not a good father?” He asks me, sliding his sunglasses to rest on top of his head as he turns to me. “Your kid’s already responding to your voice when you’re not in the same place as him. What if I can’t have that connection with my own children?”

I give him a small smile. “Parenting is a journey, Bash. An experience. You don’t have to be scared if it doesn’t happen straight away, that bond between parent and child. These have been the best twelve weeks of my life, getting to know Jamie and being a family. Trust me, as soon as you see them, your instincts kick in and you’ll suddenly feel this overwhelming burst of connection with your kids.” I then gesture to our younger siblings finding their way back to the main building. “Mary and I are already practising with them. It’s going well so far.”

We share a smile and flinch when Louis trips up. He’s quickly helped up by Emone and all of them continue inside the building, their voices echoing through the walls.

I really can’t wait until Fontainebleau is full of my and Mary’s children’s feet pattering and laughter echoing through.

* * *

_Monday 9th September_

“...you like that? Do you like your tummy time?” My wife babbles to our son as I wash my hair free of mud. “Do you need help?”

I shake my head, letting droplets of water splash everywhere before wincing. “No,” I say. “I’m going to kill him.”

“I did tell you that your siblings were devious,” Mary says knowingly. “Henri Jr will be doing all he can to milk out this win.”

I sigh. “I should have offered a week in Hawaii instead,” I mumble, grimacing at the dried specks of mud in my hair even though my hair’s soaked now. “Maybe Antarctica.”

Mary laughs and she gets up from the floor and heads into the bathroom to help me comb out my hair. She manages to get all of the mud out before washing her hands and returning to Jamie to lift him from his play mat. “We’re going to eat lunch now,” she tells me. “Good luck with the rest of your hair washing.”

I give her a light glare when I know that she’s teasing me. My hair doesn’t get its shine on its own. It’s a whole process, washing my hair and it’s my favourite feature. “Get out of here,” I tell her before accepting a quick peck on the lips.

“We’re going,” Mary sings, leaving our guest bedroom with the door clicking shut behind her and Jamie.

When I finish washing my hair and drying it, I get dressed in fresh clothes and decide to hunt down Henri Jr before going to eat lunch. I can’t believe he had me give him a piggyback ride on the green fields for two hours as the chateau manager gave him a tour of the place. He made sure to stay outside just to torture me as he asked question upon question about the architectural style of Blois.

Mary was right after all.

“Henri Christophe Arthur!” I cry out when I find him scuttering with Louis, Emone and Hattie by the main doors. “Stop!”

Everyone freezes and I step down the last stair, grabbing Henri’s phone and deleting all the pictures he took of my suffering. I glare at him and dismiss the girls and Louis to lunch as I cross my arms.

“You know the best thing about being king every day?” I ask and he gulps. “I get to think about punishments that I can _actually_ carry out. When we get back to Fontainebleau, you’ll spend two hours each day writing ‘I’m sorry, Francis’ until I’m satisfied.”

Henny sighs and rubs his temples. “I’m so-”

“Nope, I want it in writing,” I cut him off, pointing in the direction of the informal dining room. “Now, get to lunch.”

He sulks ahead of me and we end up meeting Charlie on the way who is on the phone with his girlfriend. He soon hangs up and stops me just before the doors as Henny goes to grab a seat. 

“Hey, Lisa’s asked if I could go over to hers? I’ll be back before we leave for home tonight,” he says.

“Be back before seven. We leave promptly at half-seven and knowing you, you’ll need time to pack your whole wardrobe,” I tell him and he nods, hurrying back down the hall as I continue into the room and take my seat at the other head of the table across from Bash.

“No Charles?” He asks.

I shake my head. “I let him go and see Lisa.”

“Do you think they’ll get married?” Louis asks curiously.

“Not now, I hope,” I reply. “He’s much too young to think about that.”

Mary snorts from her position feeding James. “Yeah, right.”

“Promise me we’re keeping James innocent until he’s in his mid-twenties, at least,” I tell my wife, making her laugh loudly.

Lunch is lovely. It’s beef stew and suet dumplings or butter bean & tomato stew for those of us who do not eat meat. Mary even teases Jamie a little by offering him some before shoving the spoonfuls into her mouth instead. It humours him and I smile, reaching over to nudge his cheek with my finger, happy to see that his smiles have more or less developed as opposed to being signs of his excretory system.

“Ooh,” we hear and everyone turns to Kenna as she drops her cutlery down. “Excuse me.” She stands and leaves the room. 

When Emone glances down at Kenna’s seat, her mouth drops open. “Uh… I think her waters broke.”

* * *

“Breathe with me,” Mary tells Kenna as the househelp sets the paddling pool up. “In… and out. In... and out.”

Kenna does as instructed, squeezing Mary’s hands tightly. “Oh, God. I don’t like this!”

“It’s going to be okay,” Mary promises her as she checks on the pool. “They’re doing your birthing pool. Everything will be as you want it. Shall I light the candles-”

“Don’t let go of me,” Kenna grits out.

Mary nods quickly. “I’m right here,” she says, using her eyes to order someone to light the candles on her behalf. “We’ll have whale music on.”

Eventually, Kenna is eased into the pool as the midwife arrives with the doctors. They declare that the labour is progressing quickly and she is up to 7cm dilated. That doesn’t surprise Mary at all who jokes that the twins want to arrive quicker than James did.

“I’m going to leave you with this team of wonderful medical experts,” Mary tells Kenna, getting up from her knees. “Jamie needs a feed. I didn’t manage to finish up before this started.”

Kenna turns to her, eyes wide and full of fear. “Mary, don’t leave me alone!”

“What if Bash stays with you?” Mary suggests. 

Kenna shakes her head. “He doesn’t want to do this with me,” she says, gripping onto Mary’s hands tighter when another contraction hits. “We’re not that close.”

“But these are his kids. I’m sure he’d love to witness their births,” Mary says, palming Kenna’s hair back gently. “Let him in.”

Letting go of Mary’s hands, Kenna shakes her head. “You can go, I can do this alone.”

Conflicted, Mary leaves but not before glancing over her shoulder at a frazzled Kenna. She sighs and finds Francis outside with Jamie in his arms as Bash paces the hall. “She’s 7cm dilated currently. She’s alright, she’s got the birthing pool and the candles lit up. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the whale music. We’ve had it put on.”

“She’s alone,” Bash states, turning to face her. “Why doesn’t she want me in there? I can hold her hand or something.”

Mary raises her brows. “She said that you didn’t want to be there with her…” She trails off. “Bash?”

Bash sighs and rubs his hands down his face. “I…” He doesn’t want to say that Kenna’s lying because she is lying, but he also doesn’t want to overstep if she doesn’t want him in there. He flinches with the other couple when they hear a wail come from the room. “If she doesn’t want me in there, I can’t impose.”

Inside the room, the midwife tells Kenna that she’s 8cm dilated. She rests her arms over the edge of the pool, controlling her breathing as instructed as her blood pressure is taken. She wishes Mary could have stayed but she had disturbed her nephew’s feeding time and she’d hate to get on a baby’s bad side.

It takes a full hour or so until she’s fully dilated and she realises that she doesn’t want to do it alone. Mary’s got Jamie to think about and Kenna can’t imagine asking Francis or one of his siblings to be her birthing partner as her family are in Scotland. She has to stop being petty and accept help when she needs it. 

“You’re going to start pushing soon, Your Grace-”

“Get my husband,” Kenna cuts her off, strained. “I can’t do this…” She watches as Madame Lombard heads to the door and disappears behind it. Soon after, she returns with Bash behind her and Kenna immediately reaches out for him. “Please, stay.”

“Oh, Kenna,” he breathes out, getting to his knees and taking her hand in his. “You’re going to be okay, alright?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not. I’m terrified. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be like!” She was supposed to be surrounded by her close friends and family, the pain minimal with no thoughts of gas and air but a completely drug-free process. Her husband is supposed to love her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear as she births their child and they’ll bask in baby pheromones and happiness afterwards.

But it’s so painful and she’s surrounded by people who are practically strangers and her husband is only with her out of duty and certainly not because he loves her in any sort of way.

“You need to start pushing-”

“I can’t,” Kenna says even though her body begs her to. _Not like this. Please, not like this_.

“Let’s get you comfortable,” the midwife suggests, trying to manoeuvre Kenna away from the edge of the pool so that her back lays against it.

Still, Kenna shakes her head when they tell her to push. 

“How about…” Bash starts, undoing the zip and buttons of his jeans and taking them off along with his shoes and socks. “I get in with you and we can push together?”

She looks up at him but before she can say anything, he’s in the pool beside her and inserts himself behind her so she rests against his chest. Taking both of her hands in his, he squeezes them as a wave of pain hits her and she grabs onto him.

The midwife gives Bash a grateful look before turning to Kenna. “When I tell you to push, you push.”

Shakily, Kenna nods and focuses on the heart that is beating against her back. Whenever the midwife tells her to push, she feels pressure on her hands from where Bash squeezes them and soon, she’s riding through the pain and pushes as hard as she can with primal wails escaping her lips.

It’s not her dream labour process but it’s a start.

* * *

“Shh, it’s okay, Jamie,” Mary coos to her son as he whimpers in his sleep. “Mama’s here and she’ll keep you safe.”

“Or make sure your milk supply is still running,” I joke as I press a kiss on top of Mary’s head before taking a seat beside her on the bed.

Mary chuckles, wiping some spilt milk from Jamie’s mouth. “Greedy, little monster,” she mutters lovingly. She turns to me, gesturing to my open suitcase on the floor. “Packing already?”

“I figured that we should head home earlier than planned,” I say. “They’re going to the hospital to make sure everything is okay with Kenna and the babies.” I lay down on the bed with a happy sigh as I smile widely. “Can you believe it? We’re an uncle and aunt now.”

My wife lets out a happy squeal as I wince with a grin. “They were so cute! I hope they take a lot of pictures, I’ll be adding them to the scrapbook I’m sending my brother and Agnes for Christmas.” She retrieves her phone and starts snapping pictures of our sleeping son.

“Leave the poor kid alone,” I jest as she makes it into a photoshoot opportunity. I still can’t believe that it’s been a little over 12 weeks that we’ve been the official parents of this little guy and I roll over onto my side and stroke his cheek. “You’re so beautiful…” 

I can’t believe that Mary and I made this little guy. His hair is getting darker and I know it will eventually turn brown. It makes me kind of sad but Mary and I have chances to have blonde kids and to be honest, brown hair does suit Jamie. Mary says he looks a lot like her dad and that makes me happy because it makes her happy and her happiness is what counts. 

“This just makes me want to have ten children,” my wife mutters as she snaps another photo of our son.

I grin. “Glad I convinced you,” I reply. We’ve been trying again but not that much. We’re just going to let it happen instead of forcing things. We didn’t necessarily plan to have Jamie so soon into our marriage because we’re still trying to navigate our marriage and get used to being together in public. 

It’s different from our affair and I’m relieved but saddened at the same time. At least when we were a secret, we were able to have a private life. Now, every news outlet, magazine and social media app blasts stories about our lives every other second. Some are even berating us for keeping Jamie so private, for not producing enough photographs or facts about him. 

Why should we?

I mean, who wants to know how many times a day he takes a nap or feeds? People can do the math and search online about the average baby. They do not need to know about my baby’s sleeping and eating habits.

“Are you okay over there?” Mary asks, putting her phone away and leaving Jamie be, finally. I swear she’s stockpiling extra photographs to embarrass him with at his wedding one day.

I nod, pulling her into my arms and pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I’m perfectly fine,” I tell her. “I’m just thinking about how we’re going to protect this.”

She frowns. “What?”

“Us. Jamie. Our family,” I say, sitting up and going to rest my back against the headboard as she settles in between my thighs on her knees. “I don’t want anybody ruining this, Mary. We’ve finally reached a new momentum, we’ve got used to being new parents. I don’t want anyone to burst our bubble.”

She cups my cheeks. “They won’t, Francis.”

“How do you know that?” I ask with a sigh.

She smiles. “Because we’ve got each other and a whole army of bodyguards to protect us.” She pecks my lips softly. “We’re going to be just fine, Francis. Don’t worry.”

“How can I when you kiss me like that?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her towards me.

She laughs, turning her head towards our son. “Francis, we can’t have sex with our son on the bed!”

“Who said anything about sex?” I exclaim, kissing her neck. “I just want a little kiss on my lips.” I pout them and she chuckles before pecking them. “Once more would do it.” She does it again. “And another one-”

I moan when she cuts me off with a deeper kiss, running her fingers through my hair. Before things get too heated, Jamie starts to whimper and she chuckles when I groan.

“I guess watching him sleep is better than sex,” I mumble when she leaves the warmth of my arms to check on him. “All good?”

“When is this kid going to realise that as long as he’s breastfeeding, I’m not going to run out of milk?” She jokes at the choice of nightmare that she’s bestowed upon our son. It was my joke first but I let her have it. She then winces. “I wonder how Kenna’s going to handle two bloodsucking kids at her-”

“I do _not_ want to know about _that_ ,” I say, tapping her bum as I get off the bed to continue packing. “In fact, let’s pray for her.”

Mary laughs and sighs wistfully. “Want some help?”

“Nah,” I say, chuckling an unfolded shirt into the suitcase to test her.

My plan works and I end up switching places with her, my eyes never leaving the soft rise and fall of Jamie’s chest as he slumbers.

* * *

“Lisa?”

“I’m okay,” Lisa calls out, “I’m just finishing up.”

Charlie sighs and waits until his girlfriend has finished in the bathroom. It has taken ages to convince her to finally take the pregnancy test and put them both out of misery or… mortify them with their lives. 

When she finally leaves the bathroom, he almost leaps at her. “Show me,” he says.

Lisa presents the pregnancy test and hands it over to him as she bites the bottom of her lip. He holds it tightly at first before he checks the result and his face pales when he sees the faint positive marker on the reader part. His eyes meet hers and she shrugs helplessly as her eyes tear up.

“We can fix this,” he says quietly.

They’re only eighteen but they’re not normal eighteen-year-olds, _he’s_ not a normal eighteen-year-old. His brother is the _King of France_ and he’s unmarried. This can’t be happening, they can’t be parents right now. They’re still in school.

“How?” Lisa asks. “My parents… They kill me!”

He winces and knows his parents _and_ brother will do more than just kill him. They’ll kill him, bury him, bring him back to life to torture him and all over again. He’ll be a disgrace to the family, break their hearts and he’ll be a disappointment. He knows the media will jump at a chance to discredit his family. Ever since his father’s affairs and the one that actually produced a kid, they’ve been on thin ice when it comes to positive PR. Francis and Mary’s affair a year prior didn’t help matters either.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispers warily, coming to hug his girlfriend tightly. “We’ll get through this, Lise. I promise you.”

She shakes her head, pulling away from him. “How can we? They’ll… You know what will happen! My parents will disown me!”

Charlie sighs heavily and grimaces. “Let’s get you checked out first. Book a doctors’ appointment.”

Lisa nods and retrieves her phone. “But what should I say?”

“We’re adults, Lise,” he reminds her. “And no one knows we’re together. At least the public. Just say that you took a pregnancy test and it was positive. You need to get yourself checked out and _then_ we can work from there.” His phone beeps with a text and he checks it. “My brother’s summoned me back. We’re going home earlier…” He frowns. “One minute.”

Leaving the room, he dials Francis’s number and waits until he picks up.

_“Charles, I see you’ve got my text?”_

“Yes. Why are we going home now?”

 _“Why don’t you answer my calls, Charles?”_ Francis asks warily. _“Kenna had the babies. She, Bash and the babies are on their way to the hospital. I don’t want us getting under their feet when they return home tomorrow so we have to go home now.”_

Charlie winces. “Can we wait for an hour?” He asks, eyeing Lisa’s door. “I’ve got to deal with something with Lisa.”

_“God, Charles, if you’re delaying our journey home for a chance to have sex with your-”_

“No. It’s not that,” Charlie snaps. “She’s sick. I need to take her to her doctor.”

Francis sighs heavily. _“I’m sorry to hear that. Can’t someone else take her?”_

“No-”

 _“Charles, you can’t stay for this. You most certainly can’t make your relationship with her public just yet until you both graduate from school,”_ Francis cuts him off. _“We can’t risk anyone finding out about you both.”_

Charlie closes his eyes tightly. “Francis, _please_. I need to make sure she’s okay. I’ll be there in two hours. You said it yourself, Bash and Kenna will come home tomorrow. We’ve got time.”

 _“Fine. Two hours and nothing more. I want you back at Blois, your bags packed and everyone on the road within thirty minutes from that,”_ Francis says firmly.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Charlie mutters. “I’ll see you later.”

_“Yeah, bye.”_

“Bye,” Charlie replies before hanging up and heading back into Lisa’s bedroom. “Done?”

“I’ve booked an emergency appointment. They will see me in thirty minutes,” she tells him.

Charlie swallows hard. “Let’s go then.”

* * *

“...at them, they’re so beautiful,” Kenna breathes out, brushing her thumb over her son’s cheek as she feeds her newborns. Her other thumb gently strokes her daughter’s cheek and she smiles down at them both before sighing tiredly and closing her eyes. “I could sleep for days.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bash asks, pulling a face at the hospital food they’ve been given. “Surely, there’s got to be better food than this.”

Kenna snorts. “I’m not complaining. I’m hungry and tired. It can taste like cardboard for all I care.”

“Well, I care,” Bash says, patting his pockets down for his wallet. “And I forgot my wallet.” He glances down at the offending food. “We’re paying private care for a reason, Kenna. I’m not letting you eat this. You need something better.”

“Okay, fetch me some food then,” she tells him, wishing she had a free hand to wave him off.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Bash leaves the room and ends up borrowing one of their guards’ cash to find something worth eating. He ends up at a small bistro a couple of streets away and ponders the menu.

“Oui, Monsieur?”

Turning to the woman behind the till, he says, “Got anything for a hormonal, hungry and tired new mother?”

The woman chuckles and nods. “We have onion soup and ratatouille.”

“Are they vegetarian?”

“As vegetarian as one gets,” the woman chuckles.

“Just making sure. I’ll take two of each, please,” he says, gesturing for his guard to pay. 

The guard snorts and pays the woman before they wait for the food. After they’ve got the food and returned to the hospital, Bash sees Kenna place their son into a cabinet with a sigh of relief.

“Two babies are nice and fed and are now napping,” she announces, getting back onto the bed. “What did you get for me?”

Holding up the takeaway dishes, he places them on the table as she comes over to take a seat. “Onion soup and ratatouille.”

“Sounds lovely,” she murmurs, sliding her dishes over and accepting a fork and spoon. She watches as he takes a seat across from her and opens up his onion soup first. “I… I never thanked you.” At his confusion, she continues with, “For helping me.”

Bash furrows his brows. “Kenna, I would have broken the door myself if you hadn’t let me inside. I couldn’t stand it, you being alone and in pain. And I had to be there, for our children.” Tentatively, he reaches out across the table and takes her hand. “You were great.”

Kenna lets out a soft chuckle. “It hurt. A lot. I don’t know if I want to do that again so soon but maybe one day.”

“You want more children?”

Her eyes grow wide. “Y-Yes, I guess. Maybe a half-sibling, who knows?” She asks, feeling his grip on her hand loosen a little.

“Hmm, yes.”

“Unless…” She begins, keeping her eyes down on her food. “We would be intimate again.”

His brows raise. “Y-Yes. It could happen again.”

“Maybe less heated and more passionately… gentle,” she says, laughing slightly.

He smirks. “You? And gentle? They shouldn’t be in the same sentence.”

“Shut up!” She laughs. “I can be gentle. Look how I managed to manoeuvre two newborns in my arms.”

“Ooh, that is a good example of you being gentle,” Bash replies. They laugh and he tightens his grip on her hand. “I never thanked _you_.”

Kenna raises a brow. “What for?”

He snorts, eyeing the two sleeping babies. “For them. For making me a father. I’ve always wanted a family of my own. Now, I have one.” He sighs and looks down. “Kenna, I never wanted you to feel like I wouldn’t love a child between us because you were their mother and not Mary.”

“You don’t have to bring that up,” Kenna says tightly, shifting her hand back towards her frame but he grips onto it.

Bash bites his bottom lip before saying, “You have been so patient with me. I’ve been selfish and unfair and I want today to be a new start. You are completely right, Kenna, I can’t keep relying on you to keep this marriage afloat, I need to make more of an effort. So, I’ve gone and booked us a marriage counsellor to come and see us every week. And I’ve also scheduled some time for us to go on dates. Do this _properly_.”

“So, backwards?” She asks.

“Yes. Let’s… date.”

She pulls a face at that which makes him laugh as she smiles a little. “Okay. But I think that’s a little strange considering we’ve got two babies and rings on our fingers.”

“We don’t have rings on our fingers,” Bash reminds her and she sighs. “But that should be remedied.” He digs into his pocket and retrieves their wedding bands. “May I?”

Nodding, Kenna allows Bash to slide her simple band around her finger before she does the same for him. “There. Feels cold," she mutters.

"Kenna, I can't promise you that I'll love you but I can promise you that I will have your best interests at heart. I'll protect you and keep you safe. I'll be loyal and faithful to you. I'll be the husband you deserve because you do deserve better and I want to be worth it to you. And worth the role of father to our kids. We can be a family," he says.

Kenna stares at him in disbelief, her eyes lowering down towards their joined hands. "I don't know what to say to that."

"You don't have to say anything now. You're hungry and tired. Just… you gave me time so I'll give you time as well. Just know that I am here. And I choose you."

Kenna bows her head. "I hope you're not saying all of this because I birthed your children. You've never considered… _chosen_ me so it's taking a while to sink in."

"Kenna, I mean everything. The counselling, the dates, protecting you and keeping you safe, being the man you de-"

"Do you still love her?"

Bash sighs. "Do you want the truth?"

"Please."

"I don't think that there won't be a part of my heart that doesn't belong to Mary until the day I die but with time, that part will become less and less until it's nothing but a distant memory. A locked one. Surrounding that part will be a love for someone else. Someone who puts me first and loves me just as much as I'll love them and put them first. I don't know when that day will come but I'm ready for it," Bash tells her.

Kenna swallows hard and nods. "Fair enough." She looks at their still joined hands before meeting his green eyes with her browns. It's the best she can get. "I don't need time because… I'm ready."

* * *

“You’re… not pregnant.”

“You don’t know how happy I am to find that out,” Lisa breathes out. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Breaking out into a wide smile, Charlie presses a kiss on her forehead. “Whatever the outcome, I would have been there for you,” he says, making her smile widely. “Next time, check the expiration date.”

“I didn’t know they expired!” She cries out indignantly. “Why would they? They are tests.”

Charlie shrugs as he chuckles. “Damned if I know,” he replies. “I’ve got to go. I’m treading on thin ice already.” 

After kissing her for a while as a farewell, he finally gets back to Blois in time to see his younger siblings pulling their suitcases towards their waiting cars. He mentally curses as he hopes his brother won’t go too hard on him as he heads inside. 

“Charles!”

“Francis, I came as soon as-”

“You thought Lisa was pregnant?” I whisper, pulling him into an empty room and closing the door.

Charlie’s eyes widen. “H-How did you-”

“I’m the king, Charles. I have my ways of getting information,” I tell him with a roll of my eyes. “Is she pregnant?”

“No,” Charlie quickly says. “It was a false positive.”

“Okay,” I say with my hands on my hips. “I didn’t know you were sexually active.”

Charlie blushes. “It’s not something I’d like to talk about with my siblings.”

“Charles, do you have any idea how risky that is?!” I ask him frantically. “Weren’t you using protection?”

“We were. But they aren’t always 100% reliable.”

“Then do you know of a way to make sure it’s 100% reliable?” I ask. When he shakes his head, I say, “By not having sex at all!”

He flinches and I sigh heavily. He swallows hard and looks at me, “I’m an adult, Francis. I can make my own decisions.”

“I don’t need another sibling going off the rails,” I snap. “It’s not you that it looks bad on, it’s me. And then Mother and Father will blame _me_. If I can’t control any of you, the whole image of the damn family is affected. Charles, either find a way to prevent any of these mishaps or I’ll have you and Lisa chaperoned until you’re of age to marry.”

He scowls and I open the door, gesturing for him to go and get his stuff. As he walks past me, he says, “You know, you used to be cool before you became king.”

“Blame Father,” I say before leaving to find Mary and Jamie upstairs.

When she sees me as she heads down the stairs with Jamie in her arms, she frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you in the car,” I reply, going to retrieve our things.

The journey home is made in silence. Louis and Henri Jr are in our car as Emone, Hattie and Charlie take the other one. James is asleep in his carseat and the boys are fast asleep as well.

“We should get there by ten,” Mary says quietly as the orange glow from the streetlights hit her face every so often. “Do you want to tell me what happened now?”

I sigh heavily, shaking my head a little. “Charles and Lisa had a pregnancy scare.”

“Oh, dear,” Mary says. “So, they’re not going to be parents anytime soon?”

“No,” I say, looking out the window. “How could he risk his future like that? Next year, he’s joining the Army. He’s already decided against going to university and I support his decision but a child could have ruined that.”

“Francis, don’t you think you’re being hypocritical?”

I turn to her, my brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

Mary rolls her eyes a little. “Remember _our_ pregnancy scare, just before I started university and you left for the Army?”

“It’s different-”

“How is it different? We were eighteen like them, we were in the same position, like them. How is our situation any different from theirs?” She asks me, crossing her arms.

I sigh. “I’m the king-”

“It would have been very damaging considering you were meant to be with Olivia and we were unmarried,” she cuts me off. “You’re being too hard on Charlie.”

“If I’m not hard on them, our parents will be and that will be much worse,” I tell her. “I’m supposed to be the head of the family, make sure everything’s working well.” Then I sigh and rub the side of my head. “You’re right.”

“About what?” My wife asks with a smirk.

I glare at her lightly and smile. “Everything. I just don’t want them making mistakes.”

“How are we meant to learn if we never make mistakes? How are we meant to be independent if someone directs us and never lets us do things ourselves? Is that how we’ll raise Jamie?” She asks.

“I’ve already said that you were right,” I joke, reaching over the carseat and taking her hand before pressing a kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll apologise for being too hard on him. With Margaret seemingly eloping with Antonio Gallo-Ricci, I’ve not been that trusting of my siblings. I should believe that they can make decisions for themselves and come to me if they need help. And I’ll provide it for them.”

Mary smiles and nods. “I’ll see if I can talk to Margot. I know she’s not being spiteful but you really would do anything to be with the one you love. Didn’t you do what you could to be with me?”

“That was more of my father but… yes,” I reply. “Thank you, Mary.”

“Anytime,” she replies before resting her head on her window and closing her eyes. She soon falls asleep and I’m the only one left awake and I occasionally check on Jamie whenever he lets out noises.

Retrieving my phone, I hope Charlie is awake as I send him a quick text.

{ **To Charlie:** I’m sorry. I trust you and you’re old enough to make your own decisions. Just be careful.}

{ **From Charlie:** I will. Thank you.}

With a sigh, I close my eyes and try to get some sleep in. Jamie will definitely be waking up during the night and if I catch some naps in, I won’t feel awful tomorrow morning when I’ve got a whole list of things to do and sanction.

“Go to sleep, Francis.”

I chuckle softly, turning to my wife who doesn’t bother opening her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

_Tuesday 10th September_

It’s surreal, finally being home and officially being a mother of two beautiful babies and Kenna smiles down at them asleep in their cots. She’s keeping them in her room for now because she isn’t willing to walk the distance between her room and their nursery whilst they’re having midnight feeds. She feels sore but it’s a nice kind of sore, the one that makes you realise that the little humans you were growing for months are finally out and breathing on their own.

Just before she goes towards her bed to take a nap since the babies are fast asleep, she hears a knock on her door and goes to answer it. She’s surprised to see Bash there with a tray of food.

“I got your food,” he says. When she pulls a face, he furrows his brows. “I thought you were hungry? You said you were hungry.”

“Not really, anymore. Tired more than anything,” she replies. “But I’m down to eat before I sleep.”

She steps back and lets him in before closing the door and turning to find him placing the tray on the table in her room. She watches as he heads to the cots and checks on the babies, a smile gracing her lips.

“Obsessed?”

“They’re so small,” he mumbles. “And so quiet. Have they cried at all?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all,” she reveals. “Not since we got back because I fed them, changed them and put them to sleep.”

“Sorry, I took so long,” he replies, coming to the table to lay out her food. 

Kenna takes a seat and smiles at him. “It’s alright. I didn’t even notice you were gone that long,” she replies, taking a sip of tea as he takes a seat. “Oh, you’re staying?”

He raises his brows and stands up but she stops him. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t mind the company,” she says with a small smile before she starts eating.

“I was hoping we’d talk about names,” he tells her. “We’ll have to register them down in Versailles within the week.”

Kenna nods and lifts her fork to eat her eggs. “To be honest, I’ve not really been thinking about names,” she admits.

Bash pulls a face as he retrieves a small notebook from his pocket. “Really? Not something you and your girls thought about growing up?”

She laughs. “Weddings, yes. But baby names when we were kids ourselves? No.” She eyes his notebook. “Have you got a whole selection?”

He blushes and nods. “Yes. I’ve written down meanings and everything. But you don’t have to choose one from my list. You’re the one who went through labour.”

Kenna snorts softly and takes a bite of her meal. “Go on then, tell me what you’ve got.”

Glancing down at the first name, Bash says, “Henry.”

Kenna gives him a look. “God, not even Francis and Mary named their son that.”

“I can cancel out ‘Diane’ then,” Bash mutters, crossing out the names.

“Sorry. Did you want those options? I don’t mind, truly,” Kenna quickly says, feeling guilty.

He shakes his head. “To be honest, why would I want to name my kids after them if they barely raised me?” He asks before it dawns on him. “Why don’t we name our son after _your_ dad?”

Kenna smiles and blushes. “Really? Do you think he looks like a ‘Robert’? It’s a pretty old-fashioned name.”

“We could hyphenate it. With…” He thinks about it for a while before saying, “Francis. Robert-Francis.”

“Oh, that’s so lovely,” Kenna gushes. “And Francis as the king gets the honour and well, your relationship with him has got better.”

“It has.”

“So, it’s _perfect_ ,” she says happily. “It truly is.” She takes another bite of her food and smirks. “I can’t _wait_ to use his full name to tell him off.”

Bash snorts. “You’re a sadist. Poor kid,” he replies, flicking through the other names. “And I guess we should look at middle names. I was thinking of one of mine. That is if-”

“Sebastian, give me a name and I’ll see if I like it or not. Bear in mind that it’s not _our_ name but his and we have to give him a good name he’ll be proud of!” Kenna tells him. 

“Fine,” Bash says. “Robert-François Laurent Pierre.”

Kenna claps her hands once. “There. That’s his name. It’s perfect. I have no objections,” she says, continuing to eat. “To be honest, I don’t have the energy to think about names right now because I’m breastfeeding two bloodsucking babies and my body feels like my organs have been spat out and trampled on before being put back in.”

Bash lets out a chuckle and nods. “Okay. Onto our daughter,” he replies. It’s strange, referring to their kids as theirs. They are theirs, he just never really imagined having children with Kenna in general. He didn’t see this coming on their wedding day, he’d assumed they’d go their separate ways and put on a charade for the public and their families. But here they are with a little Robert-Francis and… 

“My mother has played a big role in my life,” Kenna tells him. “I’d love to honour her if we’re not going with your mother’s name.”

Bash snaps out of his thoughts and glances down at the only name he’d fully considered for their daughter. “I, uh, I was thinking of ‘Anastasie’. Or ‘Anastasia’.”

“Your grandmother,” Kenna says softly.

“I got a lot from her than just a ring,” he says quietly. “She practically raised me whilst Mother was buried in her drinks and moods. Then she died.”

Sighing, Kenna reaches out and places her hand on his. “I’d _love_ to name our daughter after your grandmother. She meant a lot to you so she means a lot to me and our children.” She turns when one of the babies starts to whimper and smiles. “Anastasie Joanna Rachel.” She turns back to his surprised face. “Well, if we’re naming our son after you, it’s only right to name our daughter after me.”

The baby starts to full-on cry and she gets up, walking over to pet their son back to his slumber just as his sister makes her pouty faces. Rubbing the baby’s cheek, Kenna feels a presence behind her and turns her head ever so slightly with a smile.

“Robin and Anastasia. Our little angels,” she whispers, seeing Bash stroke their daughter’s cheek to calm her down.

Once both babies are hushed, they can’t quite bring themselves to stop looking over them. They look on, transfixed at how beautiful the newborns are and how peaceful they are and it makes Kenna so happy. She never thought she’d be a mother when she was forced to marry Bash but here they are despite their tense relationship.

“Kenna?”

“Yes?” She whispers back, her eyes not leaving the babies. At his silence, she turns to him inquisitively and finds him staring at her, in deep thought. “Bash?”

He snaps out of his reverie and turns back to the babies. “Uh, Francis wanted to see if we’d stop by for dinner with him, Mary, Margot and her fiancé after we’ve registered the babies. I don’t know how postpartum works but I’m sure you shouldn’t exert yourself and who knows what the babies can catch out there-”

“How about we stay with them for a bit?” Kenna suggests. “Surround ourselves with family.”

“Family?” Bash asks, a brow raised.

“Your family is my family and vice versa,” she states simply. “But they,” she looks down at their children, “are our first and foremost priority and family.”

“I… I like that.”

“Great, so let him know we’ll be there,” Kenna says before leaving his side and going back to eat.

Once she’s left his side, Bash feels a strange lack of warmth and he tells the babies have sensed it because they shift uncomfortably a few times before settling. It’s like Kenna’s presence brings them peace and calm and strangely enough for him, her aura tames his. Even on his darkest of days and most bereft of days where he’s mourning the loved ones he lost, still, there is something about his wife which settles the sadness.

He’s ignored that feeling for a long while, she’s always been able to make people feel better and understand them ever since they were at school. But because of his feelings and his efforts to let go of Mary and whatever else came before Kenna, he’d resisted her strong pull.

Perhaps, he has been over Mary for a while now but he certainly doesn’t feel strongly for Kenna as he did Mary. But there is a friendship and an understanding between him and Kenna and maybe one day, he could see it grow more deeply and become less like awkward friends and more like natural lovers.

He almost chokes. _Lovers_? Where did that come from?

“Bash? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he replies, turning around and returning to his seat. “Everything’s perfectly fine.”

* * *

_Thursday 12th September_

“My mother wants the wedding to be in Spain,” Philip tells Margot the next morning. “She’s already calling up venues and inviting relatives.”

Leeza’s eyes widen as she stands from her vanity. “You are joking? The wedding has to be in France. My brother has sanctioned it to take place at Versailles as do all royal weddings take place in.”

Philip sighs, laying down on her bed. “I have no idea how I’ll let her down. This can’t be happening. It’s _our_ wedding.”

Coming to sit beside him on her bed, Leeza brushes his hair back. “Why don’t we just elope?”

He starts laughing but when she doesn’t join in, he stops and sits up. “Leeza, we can’t!”

“Why not?” She whines. “Everybody knows we’re intimate and well, my mother has been pretty vocal in our wedding plans despite it not being for a year at least… We could forget about all of that and just have a ceremony for us. And _then_ we won’t mind if our mothers take over planning the wedding because we’ll have more time to be with each other.”

Philip stares at her in disbelief so she crawls onto his lap, her knees settling on either side of his thighs. “Leeza...”

“Philip,” she drawls, nipping at his neck before bringing her lips to his ear. “Marry me.”

Closing his eyes, Philip grimaces and sighs. He gently pulls her lips away from his neck so he can look at her. “Elisabeth, as much as I’d love to marry you. We have to wait. We need to do this properly. I don’t want to get on your family’s bad side.”

“My brother, the king, by the way, won’t care. He’d even wonder why it wasn’t his idea in the first place!” She cries out. “As for my mother, she’ll have a couple of drinks, rant and forget about it.”

“My mother will never forgive me,” he says, making her chuckle. “I’m serious! She holds grudges, Leeza. She’ll skin me alive-”

She grinds against him and grins when he silences. “You were saying?”

“You are devious,” he hisses, hungrily kissing her as she undoes his shirt quickly.

Before they can take things further, a knock on her door sounds and soon the door is being opened entirely before she can grant the person access. She jumps from Philip’s lap as he quickly redoes his buttons and she smiles at her mother.

“You never cease to disappoint me, Elisabeth,” Catherine says lightly.

“Oh, I do aim to please, Mother,” Leeza says. “How can I be of assistance today, Mother Dearest?"

“Five magazines have requested access to all the details of your wedding,” Catherine informs the couple. “They want an exclusive engagement interview, different from the one you already gave when you first got engaged. They want to know the pinpoints of your romance.”

Leeza swallows hard. “Oh.”

“We could choose the magazine that will be most easy for you to lie and falsify receipts of your relationship timeline,” Catherine says. “So your pretty little head won’t suffer too much like the last time.”

Their engagement interview was awful. They stammered and laughed nervously throughout, attempting to remember the lines they had rehearsed. The only good thing about it was the adorable pictures they took and when Philip helped her to a seat after she’d stumbled down the main stairs of the chateau with every magazine and newspaper showing that picture-perfect moment of two loved-up people.

“We’ll make a decision and get back to you,” Leeza replies.

“Very well,” Catherine says, pausing by the door. “Your buttons are misaligned, Philip.” And then she leaves, leaving Philip flusteredly redoing his buttons.

Upon seeing his fiancée deep in thought, he halts in his actions and turns to her. “What’s wrong?”

Leeza sighs, turning to face him. “We don’t have a romantic story,” she says. “I was so horrible to you. This is probably Stockholm Syndrome.” Tears build in her eyes and she’s brought into Philip’s chest, his warm arms subsiding her tears into sniffles.

“I love you, Leeza. I don’t care if it’s too soon or too cheesy, I just do. I’ve always had an inkling of attraction towards you and when you selected me… I was really happy,” he tells her. “I knew that we’d be married one day and I couldn’t wait. I can’t wait. I’m glad that you’re getting there, even without those three important little words.”

She gulps, wiping a tear. “I really haven’t said those words to you yet. I-”

“When you’re ready, you’ll say them,” he cuts her off. “As for the interview, we’ll be honest. We were courting for years until one day, we saw each other differently. We saw our futures in each other and realised we could be happy. We don’t have to put too much into it. We’ll be honest.”

She nods against his chest. “I guess it worked for Francis and Mary after everything.” She looks up at him and kisses the corner of his lips. “I truly am sorry for never seeing how wonderful you were…”

“Well, you aren’t too late. In fact, you’ve caught my heart for life.”

* * *

“Mother, you’ve called me twenty-”

 _“I’m running for PM, Mary. January will be here before we know it and I need to count on you,”_ Marie tells her daughter. _“You’ve helped me before, I hope it won’t stop now that you are queen.”_

Mary sighs and checks on Jamie before heading to the window and looking outside of it. “Mother, the Royal Family cannot be embroiled in politics.”

 _“Don’t kid yourself, darling,”_ Marie says _. “I heard that your husband threatened the PM about your little passion project for when you’re off maternity leave.”_

Mary rolls her eyes. “Francis didn’t threaten anyone,” she says, turning away from the window. “He just suggested that I should sit in on a briefing when I’m off maternity leave.”

 _“So, you’ll be a Member of Parliament?”_ Marie asks. _“Perhaps, you’ll even take over my role one day. A proper de Guise.”_

Mary smiles a little at that. “Maybe. All I know is that I can’t go further than that because of my official position as queen.”

_"I know that when you and Francis weren't together, you had big plans for yourself. You were career-driven and independent. Your own woman and not the wife of a king… I'm sorry things have changed."_

Mary rolls her eyes. "Mum, I’m not sorry at all. I'm in a better position than I was back then. You worked hard to get to this position as a _woman_. I would not have been able to use you or Uncle Christian for my gain because it would have been used against me. And it would have been difficult as it was for you to get somewhere. I just wanted to have a position where I could make a difference. Especially for young girls and women. As queen, I can also do that. Be a role model, show girls that they can be something without a man even though I am only the queen because of one. But there are roles for us out there, to show people exactly what we've got to offer and that is all on ourselves."

Marie snorts softly. _"Perfectly put, darling. I have to go now, but you will support me, won't you?"_

"I can't wait to tell Jamie how I helped his Meme Marie become the first female Prime Minister of France," Mary replies with a smile. 

_“That’s my girl,”_ Marie says proudly. _“I really must go, now. More meetings to gauge my eyes out with.”_

Mary chuckles and heads back to her now awake son in his cot by her and Francis’s bed. Her nose crinkles at a particular smell. “Yeah, I’ve got to change Jamie’s nappy.” She hears him grunt and she hears something quite disgusting. “He’s done a big one.”

Marie laughs and sighs wistfully. _“Good luck with that. I’ll talk to you soon.”_

Mary hangs up and chucks her phone onto the bed before bringing her son into her arms and realising that he has pooped through his nappy and onto his clothes and mattress. She sighs heavily and looks at his grinning face.

“You are one little cheeky boy, aren’t you? Do you want Mama to suffer? Is that it?” She asks and he grins even more much to her amusement. “Okay, let’s get you changed, baby boy.”

On her way to his nursery, she bumps into Margot and almost lets the other woman drop her phone. When Margot straightens up and apologises, quickly checking over Jamie before her nose crinkles, she smiles at Mary.

“Off to change this little guy?”

Mary nods. “Yeah,” she says, laughing. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”

Margot rolls her eyes slightly. “Antonio failed to let me know that his parents were back in town. He wants only me to attend. Not my army of siblings and parents.”

“I see,” Mary says. “So, you’ll be an easy target this time.”

Margot snorts. “No, they love me.”

“Well, that’s nice to know,” Mary replies with a slight smile. “Good luck with it.”

“Thank you,” Margot says gratefully. “And I can’t wait for you, Francis and Bash to get to know him better over dinner.”

Mary nods. “Same. I’ve really got to-”

“Oh, yes! Good luck and,” she squeezes Jamie’s cheek, “I love you, my little nephew. Good luck getting your nappy changed.”

It makes Jamie giggle and Mary laughs in response, finally continuing on her way. She has no idea why Catherine insisted that the nursery remain where it was, so far away from their rooms. Francis and Mary let Jamie take his naps there before keeping him with them overnight, unable to be apart from him too much. 

She ought to have Francis finally put up the changing table in their room, she doesn’t want their bedsheets smelling of poop all the time and the poor maids have already redone their bedsheets multiple times other than the usual bi-daily arrangements.

Looking down at her son, Mary chuckles. “Why don’t you ever poop that much for Papa, huh?”

She rolls her eyes when his response is a mere fart.

* * *

_Saturday 14th September_

“Antonio, this is my eldest brother, Sebastian, the Duke of Orléans and his wife, Mckenna, the Duchess,” Margot tells her fiancé as Antonio shakes hands with Bash and kisses the back of Kenna’s hand.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Antonio tells them both. “May I extend my congratulations on the birth of your children?”

Kenna smiles. “You may, thank you,” she says, smoothing out her dress. She wishes she chose something that hugged her curves. Her baby weight has somewhat gone but she’s still not as elegant as she was and eyeing Margot’s stunning figure in a tight blood-red dress, she can’t help but feel a bit unattractive in her simple navy blue dress.

Sighing, she accepts a non-alcoholic drink from the butler as the others take their alcoholic ones. She also wishes she could down a good few but she’s breastfeeding for the foreseeable future.

“So,” Bash starts, taking a sip of his drink, “what do you do, Antonio?”

Antonio clears his throat. “My family own clubs around the globe.”

“What do _you_ do,” Bash asks, receiving a slight glare from Margot. “I know what your family does, I wouldn’t be a good brother if I didn’t do a bit of research on my sister’s fiancé but what do you bring to the table?”

Antonio blinks in surprise before swallowing. “I, uh, help run my family’s clubs in other countries. Like France, for example.”

Bash nods slowly as the four take seats on the settees. Francis and Mary are taking their sweet time but they did say that James had been feeling slightly under the weather and was experiencing bouts of baby diarrhoea. Something Bash hopes his children don’t experience so soon, he and Kenna have changed enough nappies as well as the nannies to last them a lifetime already.

“Antonio’s really good at what he does, Sebastian,” Margot says, placing a hand on Antonio’s knee. “He’s handling billions on the daily. He could very well be his father’s successor because his older brother-”

“My older brother is, uh, leaving the family for love,” Antonio says tightly.

Kenna raises a brow. “And he gets punished for that?”

“Uh, well, the woman he loves isn’t the ideal partner my parents thought of for him,” Antonio replies.

“And here you are,” Bash says, “with a princess. Ideal partner, ideal lifestyle… How _did_ you meet?”

Margot rolls her eyes. “He helped me out with Leslie.”

“That old thing?”

“She’s new, and you know it!” Margot snaps, making Bash smirk behind his glass. “Anyway, he was my knight in shining armour. Shame it can’t be said of you with your wife.”

Kenna blushes and sinks back in her seat as her husband glowers at his sister. Their marriage is not someone else’s weapon against them. “Uh, so you’re Italian, Antonio?”

“Yes. I love my country, the culture is very heartwarming and welcoming and one day, Margot will come and experience it for herself as we’ll live there,” Antonio says much to Margot’s surprise.

She turns to him, a confused smile on her face. “I thought we’d live in France. The clubs here are doing so well, they’re producing more revenue than-”

“When did I say we’d live in France, sweetheart?” Antonio asks through gritted teeth and a smile. “We talked about it, remember? We’d live in Italy. You even alluded to your mother being pleased as she’d have more reason to visit her birth country and family more.”

Margot nods a little. “Yes, I did say. I must have overindulged and forgot. You all know how I am with a good few drinks down me.”

“Hmm.”

Looking between them, Bash narrows his eyes slightly but before he can say anything, one of his guards whispers into his ear about the babies crying. Sighing, he relays the message to Kenna and she quickly rises and leaves the room.

“Is everything okay?” Margot asks.

“My children have decided to start a choir with their wails,” Bash replies, slightly amused about it all. “Surprisingly, the staff at Blois do not complain because they have got used to it.”

Margot beams happily. “I can’t wait until we have children, Antonio.”

“We should have four,” he says, kissing her cheek as she giggles. “With your smile, they’d be envied.”

Margot turns to Bash. “You must show us pictures of the twins.”

Bash blushes. “Do you have hours to spare? Because I have _loads_.”

* * *

“...Claude! Come and dance with us!” 

Claude chuckles and takes a long sip of her mimosa before joining her friends on the dance floor. With her older siblings doing boring things like triple dinner dates and wedding planning, she has to rely on her somewhat friends to give her thrills for the weekend.

She barely remembers their names at times. There are Susanne, Poppy and some Russian supermodel, Annika. She met Susanne and Poppy at school years ago but Annika’s a new addition to their group.

“I’m going to do a line in the bathroom. Come with me,” Annika says after their third dance-pop song.

She’s already pulling Claude in the direction of the restroom and Claude pulls a face when she stumbles and twists her ankle awkwardly in her new heels. She should have broken them in earlier but they were too cute to wait on. 

The restroom isn’t that busy as Annika leads her into the biggest stall and locks the door with a drunken giggle. She digs into her purse and reveals a small bag full of white powder.

“Nix, you know I don’t mess with that stuff,” Claude says as Annika prepares a few lines. “Come on, let’s just grab some more drinks and a dance.”

“When was the last time you had a good fuck?” Annika asks curiously as Claude smirks. “Oh, you’re still seeing that lecturer?”

Claude shakes her head. “I’ve moved on from him. His wife would have found out.”

“Shame, he was cute,” Annika replies, sniffing one line before shaking her head out. “So, who’s the new guy?”

Claude blushes. “Luc.”

“Wait, _what_?!” Annika cries out, turning to her. “You’re joking. I thought you said that you-”

“He’s great in bed, okay?” Claude says, rolling her eyes as she crosses her arms. She then lets out a soft chuckle. “He really knows how to get under my skin.”

“And in it!” Annika cries out. “Jesus, Claudie. You’ve put me off the coke.”

“Good.”

Annika laughs and puts the bag away before wiping her nose. “I’m going to England for a bit. Want to get in on some free shows?”

Claude shakes her head. “No, unlike you, I actually like going to university,” she replies as they head to the sinks. She leans against it as Annika washes her hands. “I invited him here, by the way.”

“Luc?” Annika asks and at Claude’s nod, she adds, “Do you think you’ll eventually marry him then?”

Claude shrugs. “I am not like my sisters. I don’t have to think about marriage just yet. I’ve got years of fun left.”

Annika chuckles and places her wet hands on Claude’s cheeks. “Knew you were the fun one,” she says before leading her back into the busy club.

Claude winces as people bump into them, clearly starting to hate the club vibe because five times is too many to run into people without trying to. She’s only here since Margot requested that a family member show their support for Antonio’s family’s business. Rezanance isn’t her scene at all. It’s anything but the classy and sophisticated place that they sell. It’s just like any other club, just with wealthier customers and people in high places who do not want to risk scandals in normal clubs. It’s basically a safe playground for the rich, famous and royalty.

The grimace leaves her face when Claude and Annika finally escape the sweaty-bodied dance floor and she spots Luc and a few of his friends laughing. Their eyes meet and she acts like she doesn’t know him which makes him chuckle.

“Now, you and Lover Boy don’t know each other?” Annika asks when they reach Susanne Poppy.

Claude turns to her. “Just how I like it,” she replies. “I’m going to grab a-”

“Everybody, get down!”

Gunshots ring in the air and Claude screams as she and her friends immediately sink to the floor. She curls up into a ball and sees feet of scrambling people trying to leave before they’re put down, dropping like flies.

“I said, get down!”

“Claude?” Annika whispers shakily.

Claude slides her hand across the ground and takes Annika’s in hers. “We’re going to be okay,” she whispers. “We’re going to be okay.”

* * *

“I don’t like him,” Bash tells me once we’ve excused ourselves to the bar as the women talk and Antonio uses the restroom. “He’s not right for Margaret.”

I nod in agreement, slowly sipping my drink. “I didn’t even have to meet him to know how wrong he is for her.”

“Have you heard the way he speaks to her?” Bash asks. “Like his opinions are the only ones that matter. He’s controlling and manipulative-”

“Father wants me to drive a wedge in between them but the further we push Margot-”

“The more resistance she’ll put up,” Bash finishes for me. He downs his drink and eyes our sister. “How could she be so stupid?”

I turn around to get more drinks for us and turn to him. “I told Father I’d handle it. But… At the girls’ birthday, she threatened to spill certain information about the family,” I tell him, “if I didn’t let her and Gallo-Ricci be.”

Bash sighs heavily, closing his eyes as the bartender slides fresh drinks across the bartop. “If she thinks she’s marrying this man, she’s deluded,” he says. “Father won’t let it happen, your mother won’t let it happen, _we_ won’t let it happen…”

“Talking about me?” 

I turn and see Margot lean between us to get a drink for herself. One Whiskey Neat. “No.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replies tersely. “You’re talking mostly about Antonio.”

“Margaret-”

“He’s right,” she says suddenly. “You’re dictating my life, Francis. You always have been since you became king. We were kids yet you held so much power over my future. But not anymore.”

I can’t quite find the words to say so I simply let her return to Mary and Kenna as I grab my drink and down it. “She’s not wrong.”

“But she’s not right either. You didn’t ask for this. And whatever the rest of them do, it reflects on you,” Bash replies.

It’s how this works. Royalty. We can’t be seen as heads of state if our family is in disarray with poor presentation. I never used to care, because I wasn’t king nor was I wise enough to understand anything. But now, everything is different and I realise that being king isn’t easy unless I have my closed ones in line. 

Gallo-Ricci returns and Bash and I leave the bar and take seats beside our wives as he sits beside Margot and places his hand on her thigh. I almost roll my eyes, especially when Margot returns the gesture, hitting a bit too close to a certain area for my liking. She’s doing it on purpose.

“Margot was just asking us about the best times to get married,” Mary tells us. “She’s thinking about a Summer wedding.”

My sister chuckles. “The weather will be great. Won’t it, Nio?” She asks her fiancé and he nods, kissing her cheek. 

We’re distracted by Narcisse entering the room, alarmed. “Your Majesty, forgive me but you’re needed.”

I rise from my seat, leaving my drink on the coffee table before following after Narcisse. He pauses by the door and turns to me before eyeing Bash who is in a conversation with the others. I turn around. “Sebastian, a moment of your time, please?” I ask and he looks at me inquisitively before joining Narcisse and me outside. “Narcisse, what is it?”

“Princess Claude is being held at Monsieur Gallo-Ricci’s family’s club in downtown Paris. There have been reports of gunshots,” he says, making me gasp as Bash’s eyes widen. “The police are there along with the Special Forces. As a member of the Family is present, I have taken it upon myself to have the Military attend to the distress call.” He swallows hard. “My son, Luca, is in there too.”

I turn to the closed door where Gallo-Ricci is behind, cosying up with my sister and I turn back to Narcisse. “Wasn’t Claude with security guards? Wasn’t the damn place secure? I thought the Gallo-Riccis prided themselves over their secure locations. This. Is. Anything. But,” I hiss, about to enter the room but Bash stops me.

“We’ll only worry them,” he quickly says. “And I can’t let you kill him as much as I want to myself.”

He’s right and I turn to him. “Claude…” I take a sharp intake of breath, turning to Narcisse. “Are my parents aware?”

“The Queen Mother is on a flight to Hawaii with her friends. As for the King Father, he and a few friends have gone to Burgundy for a bachelor’s party,” Narcisse says.

“Don’t tell them,” I say. “Don’t let them know a thing and if my father finds out… We have it handled.”

“Very well,” Narcisse says before bowing and leaving.

I release a shaky breath, tears threatening to spill at the reality of losing one of my sisters. Claude and I haven’t got along much over the years, she’d rather listen to Bash and his reasoning before she considers my input.

The door opens and I turn away, quickly drying my tears before turning around and facing Kenna. “Oh, is everything alright?” I ask, hoping I sound casual as Bash eyes me warily.

“I’m not feeling too well,” Kenna says. “I’m going to head to bed.” She turns to Bash. “See you in the morning.”

“You will,” he promises before she nods and walks down the hall. “What are we going to do, Francis?”

I shrug. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

I don’t know.

* * *

“We’re going to be okay,” Claude says croakily as she and her friends try not to flinch when the gunmen turn in their way every so often.

Eventually, the one thing she prayed not to happen happens and she’s yanked up, a yelp escaping her lips as she comes face to face with a masked assailant.

“I knew I recognised you,” he says, running his gun against her cheek. “Princess Claude.”

“Leave her alone!”

Claude sniffles, opening her eyes. She didn’t even know she closed them. She turns her head, recognising that voice and she silently begs Luc to _shut up_. “Ignore him,” she says shakily, turning back to the masked man. “My family, well, you know who they are. Let me and my friends go and they’ll pay you what you want.”

“Do you think we _care_ about money?” The man asks and she blinks, tears springing to her eyes despite her effort. “We don’t care about money, sweetheart. We want justice.”

“Justice for what?” Claude asks, looking around. “You’ve killed innocent people. You are trapping innocent people! For what?!” She holds her own when he shoves her to the ground. “You won’t scare me, you know. I’ve dealt with far worse than-”

She’s struck across the cheek and she hears a grunt. She looks up and sees Luc wrestling the man on the ground as onlookers make noises of fear or hope. Before she can move to help him, he’s shot in the arm and he lets out a strangled cry, falling onto his back as he grips tightly to his wound.

“Luc,” she breathes out, crawling towards him as the masked man stands back up and spits out blood.

“Connard,” he swears, kicking Luc in the stomach for good measure.

Claude kicks his legs, and he falls and hits his head against the ground hard. “Right back at you,” she hisses when he doesn’t move. She looks down at Luc and undoes the belt to her dress, tightening it around his arm. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Claude!”

It’s Annika and as she turns in her friends’ direction, she’s hit against the head and slumps down onto the floor, briefly knocked unconscious. When she awakens, her vision is blurry and she slowly moans when she realises she can’t move her arms. She’s been bound up and Luc is beside her, both of them leaning against a wall.

“Nice try,” Luc whispers, his eyes slowly drawing towards where her friends were on the edge of the dancefloor and she follows his line of sight to see her friend, lying eyes wide in a pool of her own blood.

“Nix!” She croaks out, sobs trying to leave her mouth as she begs herself to be quiet. _It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. Why did I leave the chateau? I should have stayed home. I-_

“It’s going to be okay,” Luc tells her quietly, eyeing the men surrounding them.

She doesn’t know how long it is but a phone rings and one of them answers it, putting it on loud. She listens to his conversation with some negotiator and the negotiator states that he knows that she’s there along with a royal staff member’s son. They’re not even the targets, the owner of the damn place is and she curses Margot mentally.

She just wants her mum. Perhaps her dad. But her mum mostly. 

And surprisingly enough, she has never wanted Catherine. Her mother’s not the most maternal woman in the world but she does dote on the children she loves and Claude does not fit the bill but she’s still had some sort of refuge with her mother whenever she was upset about things.

“Claude?”

She turns to Luc. “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” Luc starts, swallowing hard as his vision starts to blur from the blood loss, “I always thought you were kind of cool.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. “You know your own mind, you’re independent. You’re bossy…”

“You’re not dying on me, Luc,” she whispers. “You owe me sex.”

He laughs weakly. “I thought you said I was bad in bed.”

“Why do I keep coming back then?”

“Because you don’t want to keep chasing our lecturers and married men,” he replies softly.

Claude almost bursts into sobs. That pretty much sums her up. She’s a cold-hearted bitch who has both mummy and daddy issues and she sleeps with men, regardless of who they are. She’s even bedded some guards and servants and paid them off to keep quiet about their trysts. She’s far from the perfect picture princess the media spurns her to be. Her family’s made her likeable but she is anything but.

“I like you,” she adds, feeling that it’s needed. “And I’ve never had one constant in my life. Someone who cared, who wasn’t one of my siblings or my parents… I’ve always been the black sheep and… I always wanted to fit in but I couldn’t. Everyone had their roles, but me.” She sniffles. “Thank you, Luc.”

When he doesn’t reply she turns to him and bites back a sob when she realises that he’s unconscious. She bows her head but looks up when a pair of feet stop before her.

“You’re leaving,” the man says simply. “Get your friends and go.”

Claude has not necessarily been religious, her life is an example of a bad, non-practising Catholic, but right now she thanks God for her release. After she’s unbound and she and her friends, unconscious or dead, can leave and she finally throws up everything she’s had that day before she’s whisked off in a royal vehicle.

* * *

“Oh, Claude!” I breathe out, hugging her tightly before studying her face. “What did they do to you?”

She latches onto me, my grip around her getting tighter. “They could have killed me,” she whispers.

“But they didn’t-”

“They killed Annika.”

I don’t know Annika but I know she was some famous supermodel Claude spent time with. I assumed she was one of her fake friends but I guess Annika was a friend of sorts for Claude, and I run my fingers through her hair as she trembles and shakes.

“I’m so sorry, Claudie,” I say just before the doors open wide and our father strides through.

“Where’s my daughter?”

“Daddy,” she sobs out, latching onto him instead.

I notice the blood mixed with tears and snot on my suit jacket but I don’t care as I watch Claude and our father hug tightly, my father seemingly thanking God under his breath. I order for Claude’s servants to tend to her as I leave the room to enter the drawing-room.

Mary is sipping tea, Margot is pacing the room and Gallo-Ricci looks stressed out of his mind. They all turn to me as Bash enters from another door, hanging up from a call.

“Who were those men and what did they want?” I ask Gallo-Ricci.

He swallows hard. “Last year, we had a narcotics issue at one of our locations here in France. A woman overdosed and apparently, she’d bought the drugs off a member of staff. A senior member of staff. So senior… he is a cousin of mine,” he admits tightly. “Turns out, this woman belonged to an organised crime family.” He shakes his head. “We took their threats lightly. They didn’t want money so we thought-”

“Is this the family you wish to join with ours, Margaret?!” I ask my sister. “Do you have _any_ idea how that looks on us?”

Margot shrugs helplessly as she turns to her fiancé. “It’s not your fault,” she says, turning to me. “I mean, Claude’s okay! Isn’t she? She got out.”

“She got out because she wasn’t their intended victim,” I hiss. “And they killed her friend and shot her future fiancé! So, no, Margaret. Claude is _not_ okay!”

Margot swallows hard and makes for the door. “I’ll see how she is.”

“Don’t you dare leave this room,” I snap and she freezes. “You’re going to listen and you’re going to-”

“She doesn’t have to listen to you,” Antonio cuts me off. “You have no control over her. She is your sister, not your wife or daughter.”

I glare at him and if it wasn’t for Bash, I’d throttle the man. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t know if you’ve realised,” Bash starts, scaringly calm, “but you’re in the presence of the King of France. I'd show him a bit more respect if I were you.”

Antonio scoffs. “You’re not _my_ king,” he says, making to leave. “Hell, I’m five years older than you.”

“Age doesn’t equate to respect,” Bash replies.

“Let’s all calm down, shall we?” My wife requests. She’s ever the diplomat. “Tensions are rising, let’s not start something we can’t end. Claude is safe at home. It is almost a new day. Let us rest on it and return to this in the morning.” She turns to me. “Antonio, we’d love it if you stayed. Just until we’re sure that the threat has been dealt with.”

Following Claude’s release, the Special Forces and Military handled the situation by storming the place down. They managed to get through without further harm to innocent people.

Antonio turns to my sister. “I am leaving. Margaret, darling, you are either with me or against me. If you stay, you’ll never leave their clutches and they will force you into a marriage you do not want. If you come with me, we’ll be happy and make our own family.”

“Margot,” Bash whispers, her eyes snapping to him. “You only have one family who will tell you the truth and protect your interests. We’re Valoises.”

Margot looks conflicted but then she makes her decision and collects her purse, joining Antonio by the door. “I’ve always wanted a simpler life. You both know that. I hope one day, you’ll understand why I can’t...” She sniffles. “Goodbye.”

We let her leave with Antonio without complaint and I sigh heavily, bowing my head. Out of all of my siblings, two were opposed to our lives. Bash and Margot. Bash has a private life, no one minds him because he keeps his personal life to himself and doesn’t flaunt the fact that his father was a king and his half-brother is a king. He’s always understood his role in the family, out of it mostly. Even now, there are still royalists who are bitter about my father’s affair with Diane and they rather ignore Bash's existence than outright insult him, thankfully.

With Margot, she’s the only one who went to study something meaningful at university. With Biology, she could get a job anywhere if she wanted to. She wanted to expand her horizons, see beyond Crown and duty. She got her driver’s license as soon as she could, she started renting out hotel rooms to get away from the chateaux, every now and then, she started leaving royal engagements sooner as opposed to staying through them all... 

She just didn’t want this life.

None of us did. It was Uncle Francis’s death that caused this. We would have been happier with simpler means, our father as the brother to the king and we’d have more freedom.

I can’t blame Margot for wanting a quiet life. I didn’t expect her to handle this like Bash because where he’s only our half-brother, he doesn’t have much power or status as much as she does. She’s expected to be at events, he isn’t. I envy them both for different reasons.

So many reasons.

“I’m going to check on Claude,” Bash starts quietly. “And then my family.”

He leaves the room, leaving Mary and me alone. She walks up to me and cups my cheeks tenderly, thumbing away a tear I didn’t realise was falling.

“She’ll come back,” she promises me. 

I shake my head. “Once Margot has her mind set on something, there is no changing her mind. She’s gone, Mary.”

Mary sighs, and her eyes avert from mine. “I wouldn’t cut the strings entirely. Make sure that the rubber band’s there for her to fall back on you when she needs you.”

“She’s either in or out,” I say much to my wife’s surprise. “She can’t have the best of both worlds.”

“Bash-”

“Is different,” I cut her off. “Margot has made her decision. And I… I don’t want to hear of the matter any longer.”

I swallow hard and leave the room, removing my suit jacket in the process. I’m in need of a good, strong drink and I won’t get it in there.

* * *

_Sunday 22nd September_

Slowly opening my eyes, I find my wife fast asleep and smile, running my thumb over her cheek. It wakes her hope and she shies into her pillow, a smile on her face as she lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Happy anniversary, Mary,” I whisper, nuzzling my nose against her cheek as her hand finds my forearm.

I can’t believe that it has been a full year since we got married. It feels surreal but it’s my reality, waking up beside my wife every day and watching our son grow. She’s incredible and I don’t know what I’d do without her.

“Happy anniversary,” she whispers back before kissing me soundly. 

Moans and groans escape our lips and it awakens a certain part of me as I crawl on top of her. Our kisses get deeper and our tongues battle for dominance as I cup one of her breasts. She moans into my mouth before pulling away.

“It’s still tender,” she says and I immediately reposition my hand.

“You should see your midwife,” I suggest.

She shakes her head. “I think it’s normal with breastfeeding. I’ll be fine,” she replies dismissively before continuing to kiss me.

My fingers trickle down her soft skin and slide towards her pelvic bone. Just before I get more frisky with my fingers, she quickly pushes me off of her and hurries into the bathroom. I catch the sound of her throwing up and raise my brows, wondering what I did to make her react like that.

Concerned, I get out of our bed and follow after her, finding her hunched over the toilet. “Babe?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, pulling her head out of the toilet. 

“Wow, I didn’t know morning sex would disgust you,” I say lightly, truly hoping that the idea of our intended actions didn’t put her off.

Mary smiles wryly, getting up from the floor and flushing the toilet. “No, Francis. It wasn’t you,” she says. “I think it was the seafood from yesterday. I’m not used to eating it since Jamie was born.”

I nod and follow her to the sink where she starts to brush her teeth. I mimic her actions, kind of bummed out that my morning arousal has diminished after her throwing up. “I’ll have breakfast sent-”

“Where are my happy couple?”

I groan, spitting the toothpaste out and going to the door. “Mother-”

“Happy anniversary!” My mother calls out. 

She’s just got back from her girls’ trip away and I dread telling her what has happened since she was gone. Everything has managed to keep out of the News and I haven’t heard from Margaret since she chose Antonio over us. The mere thought upsets me so I quickly shake it off and accept a hug from my mother.

“I’ve planned a ball in your honour,” she says. “I managed to get Mary’s friends to be my hands and ears whilst I was coming home.” She takes a seat and pours herself a drink. “Where is Mary?”

“Here!” Mary calls out, stepping out of the bathroom and smiling at my mother. “Welcome home, Catherine.”

Mother smiles happily. “You’re glowing, Mary!”

That makes both of us freeze and my mother looks between us both in confusion. Then it dawns on her too and I pull my wife back into the bathroom, lock the door and almost jump out of my skin when my mother bangs on it from the other side, begging to be let in. More like _demanding_ to be let in. She never begs.

“Where are the tests?” I ask my wife, shifting through the cupboards.

She heads to one and grabs two tests. “It’s too soon, right? To tell.”

I shrug. “Mary, I don’t know about this stuff,” I remember. “All I know is that Jamie’s fourteen weeks old, that’s enough time to make another baby.”

She unpacks the tests and retrieves a plastic cup. “Should I do it? I mean, I’ve thrown up only once. What’s to say that it wasn’t food poisoning?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to take a test and be certain. We’ve been trying, it won’t come as a surprise if we get a result so soon,” I tell her.

My wife relents and she pees in the cup before sticking the two tests into it. She leaves the cup on the side of the sink counter and we notice that it has gone quieter in our room. That’s before my mother is gushing over Jamie and our brows raise.

We had asked for an hour of privacy but it seems that our son was desperate to be reunited with us ever since he started sleeping in his nursery and through the night. I leave her in the bathroom and find my mother babbling to a giggling Jamie on one of the settees. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks, not looking away from Jamie’s wide eyes before he starts grinning again.

“Yes, why don’t you take Jamie and finalise the arrangements for the ball?” I ask, helping her up and slide her handbag onto her shoulder. “Mary and I need a moment.”

Mother smirks knowingly and eyes the bathroom door. “Looks like you’re going to be a big brother, James,” she says before leaving the room.

The thought makes me smile and I consider the idea of being a father of two. When Leeza and Margot were born, I was apparently the happiest brother in the world. I could have two minions to help me terrorise my parents and the staff at the chateaux but we ended up being the sweetest children in the world. And incredibly close.

When I found out that I had an older brother, a half-brother specifically, I was even more overjoyed because I wasn’t surrounded by girls all the time and we could relate to things they didn’t understand. I want my son to have the best of both worlds. A brother he can relate to and a sister he can learn how to be gentle and sensitive with. 

“Francis?” My wife’s soft voice comes as the door opens. Tears are in her eyes and I already know her answer. “I guess you’re going to have to wait for your anniversary present…” She shows me the two positive tests and I bring her in for a tight hug.

“I love you so much,” I tell her.

“I love you so much too,” she replies, hugging me even tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will continue with their anniversary gala and the fallout from this chapter.
> 
> Chapter’s major characters’ details (in order of ‘screen time’) (French-stylisation):  
> ~François (Francis) IV Simon Léon Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 6th October 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: His Majesty, King of France & The Son of France  
> ~Marie Joséphine Rebecca Stuart-de Guise-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 15th December 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Majesty, Queen of France & The Daughter of France  
> ~Sébastien Laurent Daniel Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 29th July 1989. Age (by the end of the chapter): 23. Titles: His Grace, Sebastian Valois-Angoulême, Duc d'Orléans  
> ~Henri VI Christophe Pierre Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 31st March 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 47. Titles: His Royal Majesty, King Father, Henri Valois  
> ~Mckenna Marie Rachel Ross Beaton-Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers. DOB: 5th November 1990. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Grace, Mckenna Beaton, Duchesse d’Orléans  
> ~Élisabeth Isabella Catherine Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Elisabeth, Duchesse de Brittany  
> ~Marguerite Michelle Valentina Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 2nd September 1991. Age (by the end of the chapter): 22. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Margaret, Duchesse de Berry  
> ~Claude Leona Annette Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 12th November 1992. Age (by the end of the chapter): 20. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Princess Claude, Duchesse de Lorraine  
> ~Charles Maximilien Pierre Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 27th June 1995. Age (by the end of the chapter): 17. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Charles, Duc de Touraine  
> ~Henri Christophe Jr Arthur Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 19th September 1997. Age (by the end of the chapter): 16. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Henri, Duc d’Alençon  
> ~Louis Valentin Hercule Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 3rd February 2002. Age (by the end of the chapter): 11. Titles: His Royal Highness, Prince Louis, Duc d’Urbino  
> ~Caterina Isabella Margherita de’ Medici-Valois-Angoulême. DOB: 13th April 1966. Age (by the end of the chapter): 47. Titles: Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mother, Catherine de’ Medici  
> ~Henriette Joan Maria Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 26th August 2000. Age (by the end of the chapter): 13. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Prince Henriette, Duchesse de Maine.  
> ~Emone Jeannette Louise Valois-Angoulême-de' Medici. DOB: 26th August 2000. Age (by the end of the chapter): 13. Titles: Her Royal Highness, Prince Henriette, Duchesse de Savoy.
> 
> And finally for the new Valois around!  
> Main Valois children's children characters and their details:  
> ~François-Jacques Pierre Valois-Angoulême-Stuart. DOB: 17th June 2013. Age (by the end of the chapter): roughly three months. Titles: His Royal Highness, The Dauphin de Viennois et Duc d'Anjou, Prince James.  
> ~Robert-François Laurent Pierre Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers-Beaton. DOB: 9th September 2013. Age (by the end of the chapter): roughly a couple weeks. Titles: Marquis of Orléans  
> ~Anastasie Joanna Rachel Valois-Angoulême-de Poitiers-Beaton. DOB: 9th September 2013. Age (by the end of the chapter): roughly a couple of weeks. Titles: Madamoiselle Orléans
> 
> Luc Narcisse, Antonio Gallo-Ricci, Philip Habsburg and Annika Solovyova are minor characters in this chapter.


End file.
